


Her Most Trusted Advisor

by ABitofWit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-War, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28194516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABitofWit/pseuds/ABitofWit
Summary: Hermione Granger is Minister for Magic and Lucius Malfoy enjoys nothing more than proximity to power. Anticipating rough political seas he makes her an offer he thinks she would be foolish to refuse. Hermione thinks she would be foolish to accept. Let the power plays commence. If you're looking for a slow burn, you'll find it here.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 118
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first fanfic in a Long Time. This story is an HG/LM slow burn which takes place after the war when Hermione has become Minister for Magic. I have taken a few liberties with details and the timeline—Narcissa has passed and none of the Hogwarts crew have had their children yet. They're all just sparkles in their parents' eyes. I estimate that Hermione is around 34 in this story with Ron pushing her to have kids—it's a dynamic which fits my view of their relationship. I've planned most of this out and I'm currently about halfway through it! Aiming to do updates once a week and I've also posted this on FanFiction.

Hermione Granger let out a slow, shaky breath and, for the very first time, lowered herself into the chair behind the desk of the Minister for Magic. Her chair. It wasn't as comfortable as she expected. Frowning, Hermione withdrew her wand from the sleeve of her robes and pointed it at the seat beneath her, giving a small exhale of satisfaction as she felt her cushioning charm work. Given how often she expected to be sitting there, it wouldn't do for it to be uncomfortable.

Bringing her hands together on the surface of the desk, Hermione looked around her and took in the large, empty room. It was her first day in office as Minister for Magic and she had finally managed to steal a few moments to herself just to take the moment in. While the chair was a letdown, she couldn't deny that this was the most unnecessarily large office she'd ever seen, except for, perhaps, the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Her sprawling walnut desk sat in front of three large arched windows with a view of the street, each of which allowed light to stream over her work space in a most pleasing way. The navy carpet was thick and squishy under her feet and very occasionally, when she moved just right, it twinkled like the night sky. By far her favourite part, though, was the wall of bookshelves on the left of the room and she fully intended on plugging all of the distracting gaps left by her predecessors.

Glancing down, Hermione spied a copy of the prophet had been left for her by her assistant Tessa, judging by the small sheet of Ministry-branded memo parchment bearing an animated sketch of a champagne bottle popping. Sliding the sketch back, Hermione uncovered her own smiling face looking up at her. She was waving one hand while her other was shielding her eyes against the flashing bulbs of the press cameras. She had been in front of cameras before but that had been obscene.

MUGGLEBORN MINISTER FOR MAGIC TAKES OFFICE

An unimaginative headline, she thought, but she would take plain and factual over a Rita Skeeter invention any day. It had been a whirlwind morning. A whirlwind year, actually. Try as she might, Hermione couldn't quite believe she was finally in the job she had only recently begun to dare dream about. The campaign had been long but, she had to admit it had not been particularly hard-fought. Despite being young for a Minister for Magic, Hermione had seemed like the natural choice to take over from Kingsley Shacklebolt for most of the Wizarding Community in Britain. She had, after all, stood behind him throughout his tenure, helping him to cleanse the Ministry of corruption and promote equality as she rose through the ranks, eventually reaching the position of Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

When Kingsley had told her one evening in this very office that he was going to step down, Hermione had been devastated. She had begged him to reconsider, telling him that their work had barely just started, that he still had so much more that he could achieve. Then he had intimated that he hoped she might put herself forward as his successor and she had been dumbfounded. Yet her arguments as to why she would not be suited to the job had amounted to her youth and her lack of certainty that anyone would even vote for her, both of which had sounded more like excuses than arguments when voiced aloud. Something Kingsley had been quick to point out.

"I would not trust anyone else to continue our vision for a fairer and more just wizarding world, Hermione. I have laid the foundations, with your help, of course. Now it's your time to build something on them."

Every time Hermione thought of Kingsley speaking those words to her over his firewhiskey, she felt a tightness form in her chest—a mix of fear, determination and pride potent enough to bring tears to her eyes. She wanted to prove Kingsley right and she wanted to prove to the wizarding community that the faith they had placed in her was well-founded. All she had to do was continue down the progressive path that she had already started down behind Kingsley.

Hurriedly wiping her watering eyes with a small laugh at her sentimentality, Hermione slid paper to the side and pushed herself to her feet; she had to meet Kingsley so that he could introduce her to the Muggle Prime Minister. The days where she had enough time to sit and dwell on things were over for quite some time.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy leaned back into the padded back of his large leather chair and took a long, deep drink from his tea. Feeling fortified, he reached for the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on his desk and faced the headline he knew was waiting for him.

MUGGLEBORN MINISTER FOR MAGIC TAKES OFFICE

Opening a small drawer, Lucius pulled out his emergency flask of firewhisky and tipped it into the rest of his tea. He took another gulp and shuddered as the burn of the alcohol and the heat of the tea flowed down his throat like lava. _Now_ he was fortified.

He wasn't sure why he was finding the news that Hermione Granger was now the sitting Minister for Magic so difficult to contend with. He had had weeks, months even, to gird himself for this day, the day that a Muggleborn would take the highest seat of power in the land. On some level, he supposed he had thought that the world would simply spontaneously combust before such an unnatural event was allowed to take place. Yet here he was; it had happened and the only thing burning was his own oesophagus.

Since the end of the war, he had been aware that times were changing. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been a relentless reform minister, a post-war renovator. But now Lucius Malfoy felt that times were not only changing, they definitively _had_ changed. And he had not kept up pace.

Lucius unfolded the paper further to reveal Hermione Granger's face underneath the headline, his eyes darting quickly over her smile and her blinking eyes. Her photograph held up her right hand to wave, while her left moved to protect her eyes from the flashing bulbs.

"After so many years in the limelight you'd think she'd have some more grace in front of a bloody camera," he muttered, folding the paper back up and pushing it roughly away from him.

"What would your reaction to this have been, I wonder, my dear?" Lucius addressed the photograph of Narcissa which sat on the right-hand corner of his desk. She gave no response, only offering him a flutter of her eyes and that discreet smile that had always given him a small jolt of pleasure when he considered he was one of the few people who had ever been lucky enough to enjoy it. With a cursory glance back at the paper he noted there was nothing discreet about Hermione Granger's smile, it was positively gloating.

It was not difficult for him to imagine Narcissa's response to the news, of course, even if she was no longer with him. She would have shown that exquisite combination of disappointment and anger that was so unique to her; he had always admired the way she managed to get the measurement of each feeling just right to give her disapproval maximum impact, like an emotional potioneer.

They had defected before the end of the war, yes. Narcissa had helped Potter through her actions and they had been granted clemency by the Ministry both for that and Lucius' willingness to give information on his fellow Death Eaters. But they had not completely abandoned their beliefs. Neither of them had been able to deny that they were glad the Dark Lord was gone for good—by the end of the war they had wanted nothing more than to survive with their son and both of them understood that given their fall from grace their best chance of survival was in a world without Lord Voldemort. Of course, they had also been aware that any immediate chance of furthering the Pure Blood cause died with the Dark Lord. It had been a painful trade off, to be sure, but not a difficult one. Lucius Malfoy held strong beliefs but he did not believe in needlessly dying for them. What was the point in ideological labour, he thought, if one did not get to enjoy the fruits?

Not that he was enjoying any fruits anymore. Alive as he was, Lucius Malfoy was not particularly satisfied by the life he was living. It would, perhaps, have been more bearable if he had been able to lament the decline of the wizarding world with Narcissa, but she had passed. And there was no point in expressing such thoughts to his son. Draco, who had once tried so hard to make him proud by parroting his views back at him, had entirely turned a corner following the war. He had married the Greengrass girl and together they had mustered the strength to announce that they no longer wished to follow the Pure Blood doctrine, that Muggles and Muggle Borns deserved to be treated fairly.

Lucius scoffed just thinking about the evening they had delivered their little speech over pre-dinner drinks, Astoria gripping Draco's knee as though it was a lifeline. Narcissa had dropped one of the good champagne glasses and then thrown another. Admittedly, he now looked back on the moment with more humour than he once had. So much had happened since that evening that it was hard to do anything more than laugh at the idea that his son's ideological rebellion could be the worst thing that would happen to him. Losing Narcissa to illness had been a shock and it had taken him a long time to restore his equanimity, relying on the support of Draco and Astoria.

To show his gratitude for their kindness, he had stopped pressing Astoria to give him a grandson quite as much, knowing that the birth would be her death. He wasn't sure he could bear to witness Draco go through the grief process quite so soon since he had only just emerged from its depths himself. Even though they no longer saw eye to eye on the matter of blood purity, he Draco and Astoria continued to be there for one another. Since the war there weren't really any other people to be there for.

As much as Lucius enjoyed the company of his son and, to a lesser degree, his daughter-in-law, he frequently found himself missing the life he had lived before the war. Sometimes he liked to sit in his study, a firewhiskey in hand, and just think about the days when he had been able to sweep around the halls of the Ministry and Hogwarts, knowing every person would sooner scramble out of his path than dare question his right to be there. Those had been the days. Lavish dinners, whispered conversations, half-truths and outright lies—the mere thought of it all made the pale hairs on the backs of his arms stand to attention. But all of that was nothing more than a memory. Now, he was lucky if he left the manor.

Looking back at the Prophet, Lucius pursed his lips thoughtfully. Draco seemed to think the Granger girl would make a good Minister for Magic. Lucius suspected that he had actually voted for her but he wasn't masochistic enough to ask for the truth. Lucius himself always felt that Gryffindors' primary traits made them more suited to being martyrs than ministers—not a lick of self-preservation or subtlety. Recalling the bushy-haired teenager who had so foolishly attempted to stand up to him in the Department of Mysteries so many years ago, Lucius Malfoy felt certain that regardless of her intelligence it was very likely that Hermione Granger would end up being a lamb in a political slaughter.

Lucius considered the ancestral portraits which lined his study, most of them still asleep. Like the headmaster's office in Hogwarts, the portraits were primarily placed so that the living patriarch of the Malfoy family could consult them in times of need. That rarely happened; most of them were in a perpetual state of unconsciousness and Lucius would be damned before he asked the others for their opinion on his life. His father hung closest to him, brow furrowed and angry even in his unconscious state; Armand Malfoy, the founder of the English Malfoy line, hung pride of place above the fireplace; Brutus Malfoy, he noticed, was still awake, but as was his wont he was scribbling intently on a piece of parchment, no doubt penning an anti-Muggle tract which would never be read. Slowly, Lucius' eyes trailed over to his ruff-wearing namesake in the back corner of the room: Lucius Malfoy the first.

Lucius Malfoy the first, according to historians who did not value their lives, had been quite comfortable amongst the upper echelons of Muggle society. He had even attempted to court the Muggle Queen Elizabeth I, eventually jinxing her when she turned him down. Lucius could still remember his horror when he had come across this information in the Hogwarts Library in his first year. To be named after such a man had felt like a slight from his father, the man who had always told him that the Malfoys were Pureblood through and through, that they _never_ had and never _would_ consort with Muggles or Muggleborns of any standing.

Lucius leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, considering his sleeping ancestor over clasped hands. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened to the Malfoy line if the marriage to Elizabeth I had gone ahead. Would they all be redheads like the Weasleys? Perish the thought.

Despite his father's insistence to the contrary, Lucius Malfoy did not doubt that his family had mingled with powerful Muggles before the Statute of Secrecy forced them to perform a magnificent volte-face in order to retain their power. The investments in Muggle companies that he had inherited after Abraxus' passing had told him everything he needed to know about the Malfoy family's continued malleability when it came to Muggle money, even if Muggles themselves were no longer permissible.

Malfoy's eyes skimmed over the headline once again. Muggleborn Minister for Magic. Nobby Leach had been the last one of _those_ and Lucius' own father had made sure he didn't last long. Yes, Granger was bound to have a time of it, no matter how much she believed she had purged the Ministry of Pureblood conservatives with her little _acts_ and _laws_. Not everyone with a conservative viewpoint had been loyal to the Dark Lord, after all. Most of them, in fact, did not see themselves as conservative at all; they perceived _her_ to be recklessly progressive and he knew Shacklebolt had pushed many of them to their limits. Himself included.

Once upon a time, Lucius knew he would have been heavily involved in preventing her election. Though she had won by such a landslide that he would have probably had to see to it that she was assassinated. But that was not the world he lived in anymore and now a Muggleborn held the highest seat of power in the country and his only chance of having any semblance of influence with it. She might, he pondered, need someone to offer her some friendly advice now and then; someone to point out the snake pits and the backstabbers.

And perhaps, in her gratitude she would allow that someone to make some suggestions which would benefit them personally. It left a bad taste in his mouth entirely separate to his whiskey-spiked tea but Lucius Malfoy wondered if it was time for the Malfoy family to change direction once more in order to keep its proximity to power, particularly as he had no grandchild in sight and Draco did nothing but read bloody alchemical textbooks.

Hermione Granger would not be easy prey like Fudge, he knew that, but Malfoy couldn't help but feel a small thrill as he considered the ways he might be able to get around her defences. It had been so long since he'd had a challenge. Raising his cup in a mock toast to the sleeping Lucius Malfoy the First, he threw back the last of his now-cold tea and grimaced. Any good Slytherin knew that every rule had necessary exceptions and he refused to be the Malfoy that allowed the family to slip into obscurity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy have their very first meeting. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks. Thank you to everyone who bookmarked or left kudos for the story based on the first chapter! And a really big thank you to the kind people who left reviews—they're very encouraging and I appreciate it a lot! Because I just couldn't wait to get Lucius and Hermione's first meeting out into the world, I'm posting this chapter a little earlier than I intended. After this, I'll be updating once a week, just to keep it regular.

Hermione eyed the memos, forms and letters piled on her desk like a mountaineer at the base of their next climb. Only a couple of days previously her desk had been empty except for the presence of a single newspaper and now she could barely see the wood beneath the parchment. Things moved quickly in the Minister for Magic's office. She had spent the morning having individual meetings with various departments and had finally managed to find a small gap in which to do some of her own work. Dipping her quill in the nearest pot of ink, Hermione pulled the first form towards her and, for what she was certain would not be the last time, found herself thinking longingly of the time turner she had, she now realised, taken for granted in her third year at Hogwarts.

When she was two hours into her work and halfway through editing a speech that had been sent through for her approval, Hermione was interrupted by a knock on her office door.

"Come in!" she called, barely looking up from her parchment, knowing it had to be Tessa.

"Er, Minister, sorry for interrupting but you, er, you have a visitor?"

Hermione had never heard Tessa sound quite so hesitant.

"A visitor?" Hermione looked up properly at Tessa's head peeking through the slightly opened door, less interested in the identity of the visitor than she was in Tessa's apparent confusion over whether or not the person could actually be deemed as such.

"Yes. He said he didn't have an appointment with you but he was sure you'd want to see him and he's more than willing to wait until you have a moment."

Hermione looked down at the thick lines she had just scored through an entire paragraph of her speech and suddenly felt very tired. Visitors were generally an excuse for a cup of tea.

"Well, who is it Tessa? I'm sure I could find some time."

"It's Mr Malfoy."

"Draco?" Hermione asked with some surprise. She had not heard from him in quite a long time, though she wasn't sure _why_ Tessa was behaving so anxiously if it was only Draco. He was much more bearable than he had been in their school days; Hermione had enjoyed some borderline pleasant conversations with him after the war.

"No, the other one." Tessa just about whispered.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up her forehead. There was only one other Mr Malfoy. She hoped, anyway.

"Lucius Malfoy?"

Tessa nodded, making her wispy blonde fringe bouncing up and down on her eyebrows. _Right_ , Hermione thought, pushing herself back from her desk to get to her feet. Now she understood why Tessa was so, well, not Tessa; she was of an age that Malfoy's reputation as a former Death Eater still meant something to her.

"Well, send him in I suppose."

"Are you sure? I can tell him you're busy; I mean, it wouldn't exactly be a lie, would it?" Tessa offered, nodding at the mountain of parchment on Hermione's desk.

"From what you said, Tessa, regardless of how busy I am, he is decidedly _not_. I'd rather bring him in now than allow him to sit outside with you all day." She was also immensely curious, as much as she hated to admit it.

Tessa looked relieved and slightly guilty. "Okay. Great. Thank you. I'll send him in."

"Bring some tea as well, would you?" Hermione called after her, hearing a small chirp of acknowledgement come through the door as it creaked closed again. With a sigh, Hermione put a stopper in her ink pot and shuffled her papers uselessly. She wasn't even a week in office, _what_ could Lucius Malfoy possibly have to complain about? Some affront to Pureblood standards on her part was the only thing she could imagine that would draw him out of Wiltshire for the first time in she couldn't remember how long.

Hermione had been somewhat relieved when she had started working at the Ministry and discovered that Lucius Malfoy no longer stalked its corridors on the regular. He had entirely stepped back from politics in the aftermath of the war and Kingsley had told her that he hadn't even had to fend off any kind of misguided attempt at ingratiation as he had anticipated. In fact, very little had been seen of the Malfoys in public since the end of the war.

Hermione had heard of the death of Mrs Malfoy through the Prophet and had felt some sympathy, though it was mostly for Draco; as an only child who had been close to her parents herself she understood how much he must have felt the loss. Her own parents might have been strangers in Australia these days but she was at least able to take some comfort in knowing that they were healthy and happy.

A single sharp knock and the sound of the door swinging open pulled Hermione from her reverie. She looked up, hands on her hips, to see Lucius Malfoy himself standing in the doorway. He looked quite different to the last time she had seen him; when he had been haggard and worn, a shadow of his former self huddled on the grounds of Hogwarts. The man before her was more the Malfoy she knew of old. Tall and proud, he was dressed in a set of smart black robes with his long blonde hair pulled back from his sharp features in a low ponytail. He was very much restored to his former glory, though Hermione noted with interest that while the robes he wore were clearly expensive, they were lacking the gold brocade and other shows of ostentation that he had once favoured. His trusty cane, however, was back in his possession and Hermione eyed the silver snake head with distaste.

At the sight of his impeccable state of dress, Hermione self-consciously smoothed down the front of her own robes which had been crumpled by the hours she had spent sitting down. Like his son, Lucius Malfoy had an astounding ability to make her feel _messy_ even when she wasn't. It was incredible though, she thought as she glanced back up at his face, how little he had aged in the intervening years. There were a few more lines on his face, certainly, and there were sections of his hair that now leaned decidedly more towards white than blonde but his build and posture were those of a much younger man. It wouldn't have surprised her if his manor had some kind of preservation charm in its ancient walls that held its residents in a mummy-like stasis so that they only aged when they stepped outside.

"Mr Malfoy," Hermione said at last, finding her voice, "Please do come in. Is Tessa not-?"

"She twittered something about tea before she skittered off somewhere." Malfoy responded, fully stepping into the room with a careless glance back over his shoulder. " _Nervous_ little thing, isn't she? I would have thought the Minister for Magic would have a more polished personal assistant."

Hermione grit her teeth and took a sharp breath in through her nose. It seemed the lack of change in him was not limited to his appearance. Merlin forbid Lucius Malfoy be humbled. This was not going to be a pleasant visit, she could already tell.

Malfoy turned back to face her properly and for the first time since arriving he looked her fully in the eyes, quirking a pale eyebrow as though inviting, even daring, her to voice her obvious displeasure at what he had said. His gaze was just as piercing as she remembered and Hermione cursed herself as she instinctively broke eye contact first. He had walked into the middle of the room and was simply standing there looking at her as she hovered behind her own desk at a loss for what to say. He seemed more at ease in her office than she did and she deeply regretted agreeing to have him in.

"May I sit?" he asked, all politeness, though Hermione heard a subtle dig at her manners for not offering first.

Hermione swept a hand down her face, pinching the bridge of her nose as she did as though it was an on-switch for her brain. "Please," she said, at last, gesturing to the two seats across from her desk before she returned to her own seat.

He descended into a chair and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. Before he settled in completely, Hermione watched him frown slightly and raise his cane. She barely managed to stop herself from grabbing for her wand as he drew his own, but he only pointed it at the seat beneath him and wordlessly cast the same cushioning charm she had mere days ago.

Clearly more comfortable, he returned his wand to its sheath, leaned the cane against the back of her desk and returned his gaze to her with an expectant expression. Before Hermione could finally find out what in Merlin's name he was doing in her office, Tessa bustled into the room carrying a tea tray. She tottered over to the desk, clearly moving as quickly as she could, the tray tinkling with every step. She laid the tray down with a nervous glance at Malfoy and he watched her intently, clearly relishing her nervousness.

"Will that be all, Minister?" Her voice sounded almost pleading.

"Yes, thank you Tessa. You can go."

With one last worried look at Hermione and Malfoy, Tessa hurried out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Hermione dragged the tea tray into the centre of her desk and waved her hand in a way that told Malfoy to help himself, which he gladly did.

"Sugar?" he asked. At Hermione's blank look he nodded down at the cup he was preparing and it dawned on her that he was making her tea first. She felt heat creep up her cheeks and she wasn't sure whether she was embarrassed by the shabbiness of her own manners or the presumptuousness of his.

"No. Thank you." she said stiffly.

He gave a small hum of what sounded like surprise and passed her the cup.

"Why are you here Mr Malfoy?" Hermione snapped suddenly, irritated by the way he had delicately started pouring his own tea as though they were at a garden party with all the time in the world.

"Oh, you get straight to the point. Very ministerial, Miss Granger." Hermione didn't miss the small smirk that played around his lips as he momentarily withdrew his attention from the teapot to look up at her.

"It's Mrs Weasley."

"I beg your pardon?" He finally set the teapot back down on the tray and gave her his full attention.

"My name—it's Mrs Weasley, not Miss Granger. Ron and I got married."

"Well, that won't do, I'm afraid."

"Excuse me? Are you attempting to nullify my marriage Mr Malfoy?"

"I wouldn't _dream_ of it. Love's young dream and all that. But it won't do for me to call you Mrs Weasley."

"And why not, exactly?"

"Because it would make me feel that I am addressing Molly Weasley as my Minister for Magic and I simply cannot abide by that even in my imagination. I am willing to compromise, of course. I will call you Ms Granger, if that would be acceptable to you."

"You could always call me 'Minister'." Hermione suggested, only half joking. She received a disparaging look for her trouble and sighed.

"Look, Mr Malfoy. Forgive me if I'm not in the mood to join you in a conversational tango but I am _quite_ pressed for time these days. I would very much like for you to get to the point and tell me why you've decided, after several years of seclusion, to come to the Ministry to see me of all people."

As if to make a point, Lucius took a long drink of his tea, keeping his eyes trained on hers the entire time. Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes, still made slightly uneasy by his insistence on prolonged eye contact.

"I," he finally said, lowering his cup to cradle it against his chest, "have come to proposition you."

Had she been drinking her own tea she would have choked on it. Instead she gave an incredulous laugh.

"Is something funny?" he asked lightly.

"Well, your phrasing for one thing."

"Tut tut, Ms Granger, quite a leap for a married woman to make."

Before Hermione could voice her irritation, Malfoy continued, "I _mean_ I have come to put a political proposition to you."

This time it was Hermione's turn to take a long drink, hoping the tea might help to lubricate the cogs that had started rapidly turning in her mind. _So he hasn't come to complain_.

"What, Mr Malfoy, could you possibly be looking to propose?"

"That you employ me as your advisor."

Whatever Hermione had been expecting, that was not it. The idea that Lucius Malfoy would want to be _in_ her government rather than tearing it down from the outside was utterly incomprehensible to her.

"Where did we first meet?" she asked him suddenly.

A single blink was the only sign that Malfoy was taken aback by the sudden swerve in conversation. "Flourish and Blotts, I believe, if you could _call_ that meeting. I think the only thing to which I was introduced was your angry little glare. But I'm not entirely sure what that has to do with what we're talking about."

"Yes, sorry, I was just making sure you weren't some reporter using Polyjuice potion to try and trick me into giving them a scoop or something."

"I'm rather insulted that you think it plausible that some incompetent reporter could get close enough to my person to extract a hair and walk away in one piece."

Hermione chuckled in spite of herself, "Yes, I imagine you count each and every strand before bed and when you wake up to be safe."

They both drank this time, assessing one another over the rims of their cups while Hermione tried to banish the image of Lucius Malfoy doing anything so mundane as going to bed from her mind. She, Harry and Ron had once shared a joke that he and Mrs Malfoy climbed into a double sarcophagus at the end of the day. It seemed in bad taste now.

"As I was saying before you rudely derailed the conversation, Ms Granger, I would like to offer you my services as a political advisor. I think you may benefit from my help."

Hermione wanted to scoff at his arrogance but she stopped herself; she would not allow him to provoke her any more than he already had.

"I think, given where I'm sitting, I've proven I'm quite capable without you, Mr Malfoy. Don't you?"

"Mmm," he replied, leaning forward, "from the lows of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and _now_ to the heady heights of the office of Minister for Magic. Yes, I've tracked your career closely enough; it's been an impressively swift rise, I must say. Of course, all of it was achieved while you were working under a man who quite agreed with you, who was willing to both propel you _and_ be your bulwark against excessive pushback."

Hermione could feel her back getting straighter and her brow moving lower with every word he was saying; he was clearly getting to his point and she could tell she wasn't going to like it.

"I think you might find," he continued with a glint in his eye, "now you've scrambled your way to the top of the pile, that things will be a touch more unstable without Kingsley Shacklebolt around. In fact, it might be the case that the slightest _push_ from the wrong person could send you tumbling all the way back down. I've often said that a period of transition in a government is the perfect time for some of our Ministry's less, ah, _progressive_ factions to begin rallying and they have had some time to study your weaknesses. You are a force, Ms Granger, that I will not deny you. But you are not a politician. _I_ am a politician. A patrician. I understand the subtleties of the Ministry at the top and I think you'll need someone like me around."

"I think _you_ might find, Malfoy, that the Ministry has altered a great deal since you were last a part of it. While I was 'scrambling my way to the top', as you say, I made some changes to keep people like you out of positions of power. If my memory serves me correctly, and I know it does, in your last long-term relationship with a minster you were more interested in helping yourself and your cronies than helping anyone else."

"Well, I am not a charity, Ms Granger, I do like to benefit from my efforts in small ways."

"Do you indeed. And how would you seek to benefit from me?"

A blunt question, Malfoy thought, and not the right one. _A perfect example of why she needs me_. Malfoy considered her for a moment, debating how honest he ought to be. He imagined she would respond well to honesty. Or at least what seemed like honesty. "I seek...proximity to power."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the transparency of the response.

"I enjoy being at the centre of things, Ms Granger," Malfoy elaborated, "without being the bullseye, so to speak. It is where Malfoys are most comfortable and it's a position I miss."

Hermione laid her palms flat on the surface of the desk and narrowed her eyes. "If your power and influence have taken as much of a hit as you suggest, I don't really see how you can be of much use to me. I rather get the impression I would be helping _you_ more than you would be helping _me._ "

"I may be on the fringes for the moment, Ms Granger but, as you will soon find out, it is from there that most of your problems are likely to come. The dissenting voices, the obstructive traditionalists—they may have been pushed out but they have not vanished. You might find them somewhat more frantic now that there is a Muggleborn woman in charge."

He caught her eyes as he said Muggleborn. It had been a deliberate choice of words, she knew. _Not as subtle as he thinks_.

"And that's _not_ you, then? A dissenting voice against a Muggleborn in power? I recall a time when it would have been."

"I find myself in very different times from those I once lived in."

"I don't think that quite answers my question, Mr Malfoy."

"I think my presence here should state my feelings quite clearly. Actions, as I believe the Muggles say, speak louder than words. Like my ancestors before me, I must change with the times."

"I think you're still a little _behind_ the times, actually."

Malfoy quickly clenched and then unclenched one of his fists. He slowly sat up straight and deposited his tea cup on the table with a dull _clunk_.

"You've been getting slower over the years, Mr Malfoy. When you were ahead of the game your little mask changes might have been more convincing but I'm afraid all I see before me is a man desperately trying to save face by pretending to be something he isn't."

Lucius leapt to his feet so quickly he might have apparated, causing Hermione to flinch back. His lips were set in a thin line and his eyes were blazing. For one wild moment, Hermione thought he might actually curse her in her own office, regardless of the consequences for himself.

"You have made yourself quite plain, Ms Granger. If you are quite through assassinating my character I will take up no more of your time. A Malfoy does not linger when they are not wanted."

Snatching up his cane, he strode across the room, taking Hermione by surprise with his swift movements. He stopped at the door, his hand resting on the brass handle, and looked back to see her mouth hanging slightly open.

"But if you change your mind, and I think you will, you know where to find me."

And with that he was gone. Hermione huffed out something between a laugh and a scream— _arrogant arsehole. That was not worth the tea_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius is angry after his meeting with Hermione but Draco offers him some food for thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your lovely reactions! I'm glad there's excitement about where this will go. This chapter is a little shorter than usual but next week we go back to the long boys.

Lucius Malfoy slammed the door of his study shut, dismissing the grumbles of his ancestral portraits with a sharp, violent gesture. He flung his outer cloak over the back of his chair, dropped his cane onto his desk with a clatter and marched over to a small table bearing his various whiskeys. With practiced ease, he poured an exact two-finger measure into a crystal glass and threw the amber liquid down his throat before he poured another, intending to savour this one more.   
_  
What an irritating witch_ .  
  
He didn’t usually have two whiskeys before 5pm on a Thursday but his visit to the Ministry had certainly called for it. He couldn’t believe she had managed to get as far as she had while being as obstinate as she was. Truly, he had a new admiration for Kingsley Shacklebolt; his Chocolate Frog card could read nothing but “Survived Hermione Granger” and no one would deny he had earned it.  
  
Malfoy sighed and replayed their conversation in his head, the end of it coming to him through a red angry haze. _“When you were ahead of the game… all I see before me is a man desperately trying to save face by pretending to be something he isn’t.”_ He had kept it together. Barely; his speedy exit had been necessary. It had been so long since he’d had any encounter with her and her little friends that he’d forgotten how _difficult_ it could be to reason with them.   
  
The only satisfaction he had was that he knew he had gotten to her too. He had been able to see it in the way her back had stiffened, the way her eyes had flashed, the way her palms had pressed hard into the desk as she fought to control her tone when she responded to him. _So...responsive_ . A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. Someone that easy to rile and read would need his help sooner or later.   
  
At the sound of a knock on the door, he turned towards his desk and called out a brusque invitation to enter. Draco stepped into the room and Lucius glanced over his son’s shoulder to see if Astoria would be joining them. She rarely came into the study—his portraits tended to ask invasive questions about her fertility—and this time was no different.   
  
“Father.”  
  
Lucius nodded a greeting and swept his hand in the direction of the whiskey, “Can I tempt you to join me?”  
  
Draco grinned, “So you _were_ visiting Granger.”  
  
“And how could you _possibly_ know that?"  
  
“I received an owl not half an hour ago from Zabini telling me the halls of the Ministry had been graced with the presence of Lucius Malfoy once again and that he had been heading in the direction of the Minister for Magic’s office with, and I quote, 'great purpose'. The fact that you’re drinking whiskey at,” Draco checked the grandfather clock in the corner, “half three in the afternoon just confirms to me that you’ve had a Granger encounter.”  
  
Lucius dropped into his seat behind his desk with a sigh and took another swig, “Well, if gossip is spreading that fast I suppose it’s nice to know _some_ things haven’t changed at the Ministry.”  
  
Draco busied himself with pouring his own drink before he leaned the backs of his thighs against the arm of one of the sofas by the fireplace to face his father, crossing one of his ankles over the other.   
  
“So,” he said, taking a drink, “how was our great leader?”  
  
“Irritating.”  
  
“Sounds like her.”   
  
Lucius noted with a flicker of annoyance that there was something close to warmth in his son’s voice. _Oh, how times have changed_ . Another sip.  
  
“Why, if you don’t mind me asking, did you think it would be a good idea to go and visit Hermione Granger in her first week in office as Minister for Magic? If there’s one way to get her on the defensive _that_ is it.”  
  
“I think I must be out of practice.” Lucius muttered.  
  
“No,” corrected Draco, “I think you’ve just never properly dealt with Granger before. What were you even talking to her about?”  
  
“I offered her my services.”  
  
“As?” Draco raised a pale eyebrow.  
  
“An advisor, Draco,” Lucius snapped “for Merlin’s sake, what else?” His son was taking far too much pleasure in his pain.   
  
“And she said no?”  
  
“She used a lot more words than that. But ‘no’ was the gist of it.”  
  
Draco was quiet as he took another drink and Lucius could feel his son’s eyes on him. Looking up to meet his gaze, Lucius found to his annoyance that he could not read it. 

“What?”  
  
“Well, I’m...impressed? I don’t know if that’s the right word exactly; maybe I'm just surprised. Of all the things I would have expected of you, going to Granger, cap in hand, is not one of them.”  
  
“I have not had the change of heart that you and your darling wife have had, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lucius said, a warning in his voice, “And my cap was most certainly _not in my hand_.” Draco had developed a habit of trying to make him see the 'good' in himself and it was most irritating. He knew what his good points were and they did not include a ridiculous soft-heartedness for Muggles and Mudbloods. “I just...I want the Malfoy name to hold some sway again.” _Merlin, he sounded pathetic_ .  
  
Draco nodded in understanding, “Well, that’s understandable. You thrived in the Ministry environment and I know you like to feel...effective.”  
  
They lapsed into a companionable silence and Draco meandered over to the chair opposite Lucius, sinking into it. Draco tipped his head to balance his neck over the back of the chair and stared at the distant ceiling, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the now empty glass he was cradling against his stomach.   
  
“If you’re really serious about advising Granger it could be worth giving it one more go, you know.”  
  
“I would rather retain a semblance of dignity, Draco. If she wants my help, she will come to me.”   
  
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Look, father, you need to remember who you are to her.” When Lucius said nothing, he continued. “I know you barely think about your interactions with her before and during the war but I imagine you loom quite large in her memory. You are probably still synonymous with Death Eaters in her eyes, even if you haven’t actively eaten any death in a few years. Plus, we both know you don’t think she should be in that job, so chances are she knows you think that too. Hermione Granger is many things, thick is not one of them.”  
  
Lucius’ eyes flicked over to look at Draco’s profile; his face was still directed towards the ceiling but he was giving his father a knowing sidelong look. Sometimes he forgot that Draco was no longer a petulant twelve year old and had developed into a man capable of insightful observations. It struck Lucius that his son had inherited more from him than his looks.  
  
“You’re in this for yourself. You know it. I know it. Granger obviously knows it too. But you need to show you’re not _only_ in it for yourself. You need to prove that you’re not looking to bring her down from the inside because from her perspective that’s more likely than anything else. I imagine if she hasn't read the rumours about Nobby Leach and grandfather she’ll have heard them.”  
  
“What are you suggesting then?”  
  
“I’m suggesting that you wait a while, long enough for some problems to bubble up and then return to the Ministry. See if you can find out what’s inevitably going to be bothering her and offer a solution. A _good_ one, with no strings attached. Granger isn’t Fudge, father. I have an inkling that if you want to be in her circle of power there’s going to be a lot more give to go with the take you’re used to.”  
  
“Well, that sounds exhausting.”  
  
“It will be and you’ll need to put up with her temper, too, so I recommend that you really think about how capable of going against the Pureblood doctrine you actually are before you press any further forward in the name of grabbing some power and influence. Is it worth it? Because I'd really rather not have Potter and his Aurors back on our case.”  
  
Lucius grunted a small noise of understanding as he mulled over what Draco had said, and they both lapsed into silence for a moment before he spoke again.   
  
“It’s Weasley, by the way.”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“You called her Granger, but she married Weasley.”  
  
Draco laughed loudly and allowed his head to fall to the side so that he could look directly at his father incredulously.   
  
“Fuck off. I am _not_ calling my Minister for Magic _Weasley_.”

“That’s what _I_ said.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get an insight into Hermione's relationship with Ron and Harry stops by to get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Thank you to everyone for reading, leaving kudos and commenting. You're all lovely and I hope I can keep you entertained with this story. I'm currently writing and rewriting chapter 12 which is proving to be a bit of a pain in the rear but Chapter 4 is here for you.

Hermione Granger appeared in front of her house with a _pop_ and sighed with relief at the sight of the chipped red paint on the front door and the warm light that was emanating from the window of the front room. It was a modest place for any Minister for Magic; end-of-terrace, Muggle neighbours, only a couple of bedrooms and in the furthest reaches of south east London. She and Ron had purchased it together with every knut they had in the early days of their relationship and they'd spent years making it feel like their own. The Minister for Magic position came with its own accommodation in Whitehall but Hermione had declined the opportunity to make it her permanent residence and had instead requested that they cast the best wards available over her own home. It felt good to return to _her_ home at the end of the day, even if the atmosphere had been somewhat tense over the past few months. 

She hadn’t really considered quite how much her constant working would impact her relationship with Ron, which seemed ridiculous when she actually thought about it. To her mind, initially at least, when they were at Hogwarts she had often spent entire days and evenings in the library away from him and it had never bothered either of them. But in those days they had only been friends and he and Harry had been able to spend all of their time together. Now, Harry had work and Ginny, so when the day at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had ended and George had gone home to Angelina, Ron came home to their empty house and often had to wait hours for Hermione to join him. 

Hermione understood that it must be lonely for him, she appreciated that he just wanted to spend some time with her. But she also got defensive every time he guilt-tripped her and failed to understand that she wasn’t off having a grand old time without him; she was working. Hard. And sometimes she just wanted to come home after a long day and not be pulled into an argument like it was a riptide she was simply too exhausted to resist. 

The biggest issue was that Ron was pressing her for children, _a lot_. Admittedly, if there were kids in the house he probably wouldn’t notice her absence in the evenings quite as much, so a baby or two would in some senses solve some of their problems. But Hermione wasn’t ready. She had only just started her job as Minister for Magic and the idea of falling pregnant within even the next two years just felt like incredibly bad timing. 

Rather than understanding her reticence, Ron liked to remind her of her ever-increasing age or, even worse, he would bemoan the fact that they had not just had kids as soon as they’d been married and “gotten it out of the way”. This was also her fault, of course; she’d resisted the idea of children then, too, not wanting to take a gap in her career at the risk of losing the momentum she was building. The fact that she was now Minister for Magic in her early thirties didn’t seem proof enough to Ron that she’d been right. “They’d be nearly at Hogwarts by now, Hermione!” was his constant refrain. Between their imaginary children and their prospective children, Hermione felt like an exhausted mother already.

Struggling with her briefcase, she lifted her arm to look at her watch and noted with pleasure that she wasn’t really all that late this time; only 8pm. 

When Hermione had deposited her briefcase in the hall and hung up her cloak in the cupboard, she entered the front room of the house to find Ron reclining on the sofa reading _Seeker Weekly_. At the sound of her entering the room, he peeked over the top of the pages and gave a warm smile. At the sight of his kind freckled face, Hermione felt her shoulders relax slightly. 

“Hermione! You’re pretty early tonight.”

Ron closed the magazine and dropped it onto the coffee table before swinging his legs around to get to his feet. He was dressed in his comfiest jogging bottoms (which he always praised Hermione for buying him. “Muggles really know how to do comfort, don’t they?”) and a Chudley Cannons jumper which clashed magnificently with his tousled hair. But he looked so incredibly comfortable that Hermione wanted nothing more than to push him back onto the sofa and curl up into him. 

He placed his hands on her upper arms and drew her in for a long kiss before sliding his face to the side so that his lips hovered just over her left ear. 

“I think you might like what I’ve left in the kitchen for you.” The breath from his whispered words gently moved her hair so that it tickled her ears, sending a pleasant shiver through her. 

With a slight moan, she pulled back to look him in the eyes. “You didn’t.”

He nodded solemnly and then gave her a wide, goofy grin. 

“Oh, I knew I could smell it!” Hermione cried, pulling away from him to run back through the hall and into the kitchen. On the counter beside the stovetop she spied a pot, covered with cling film to keep its contents fresh. Inside the pot was Ron’s spicy chicken tagliatelle. Hermione could feel her mouth watering as she stripped the plastic away and deposited the pot onto the back burner of the hob and turned the gas on. Against all of Hermione’s expectations, Ron had become quite a good cook which had actually come as some relief since Hermione couldn’t cook at all. It frustrated her that her skill in potions didn’t transfer to making soups but as she had climbed the career ladder, she had been grateful to be able to hand this domestic chore to Ron. His repertoire was limited but what he did know tended to be good. His spicy chicken with tagliatelle was by far her favourite of his creations. 

“You’re hungry then?” she heard Ron ask and turned to find him leaning against the kitchen door frame with his arms crossed, the lopsided grin still on his face. Hermione felt a rush of affection towards him and nodded. For all that they had been arguing recently, he still found ways to show her that he cared. 

“How was your day, anyway? Everything okay with the shop?” Hermione asked, turning back to the pot to stir and inhale the delicious smells now beginning to emanate from it. 

“Oh, just the usual, you know. George and I spent a while in the workshop—he’s still trying to come up with a way of integrating a shield charm into brooms that doesn’t mess with all of the charms already on them. It’s proving more difficult than he anticipated—we don’t really want people to have a shield charm if they can’t apply the brake, y’know? Defeats the purpose a bit. But I think he’s right that it’ll be an important addition to the line of Defence products, especially after that Quidditch referee was cursed from behind by an angry fan a few weeks ago. Everyone’s still talking about it. D’you think Law Enforcement will want them if we manage it?”

Hermione placed her plate on the kitchen table and sat down to eat, indicating that Ron should sit down in the seat beside her. 

“I reckon so. There are a number of wizards in the Ministry who hate the idea of taking even a finger off their broom while it’s in the air, never mind the whole hand they need to cast a shield charm. At the very least you’ll have Magical Games and Sports interested.”

Ron nodded, clearly pleased by what she was saying. “Nice, I’ll tell George to plug more money into the research and development, then. I think he was close to giving it up as a hopeless case but I personally think a couple more weeks of work will do it.” Ron watched her take her first bite of the meal and raised an eyebrow as she moaned deep in her throat and closed her eyes. 

“That good, eh?”

“Oh you have no idea. I barely had time to eat today. Anything else of interest happen?”

“Angelina is pregnant.”

Hermione froze mid-chew, her fork still in the air and her eyes darted to look at Ron whose expression was more intent than it had been just a moment before. 

“She’s not far along,” he explained quickly, “So they’re not telling everyone just yet but George couldn’t hold it in this morning when we were opening the shop. He’s really chuffed, I can tell.”

“Well,” Hermione started with some hesitation, “That’s really great, I’m delighted for them. When is she-”

The sound of the front door opening forced Hermione to break off mid-sentence and both she and Ron sat to attention, grabbing for their wands. The wards on the house meant that only a very small number of people were able to apparate anywhere close to it, or even see it for that matter, but they were always on alert. 

“Sorry!” Hermione heard Harry’s voice call from the hallway, “It’s just me. I know I usually owl ahead but it’s been a shit day and I didn’t want to hang around the Ministry a moment longer.”

“We’re in the kitchen, Harry!” Hermione could hear the relief in her own voice and a wide smile spread over her face. Harry would hang around for a while, pushing any further conversation with Ron about George and Angelina’s baby into the future. 

Harry’s head poked around the doorframe before he came into the room and threw himself into the chair across from Hermione. He sniffed and looked hopefully from her plate to the pot still on the stove.

“Is that spicy chicken tagliatelle?” 

“It is, and it’s also a perfect example of why you need to owl ahead. None left.”

Harry groaned and dramatically threw his head back. “Ugh, could this day _get_ any worse?”

“What’s happened, mate?” Ron asked. 

“Ah, nothing to be honest. I was just looking for some sympathy and a good excuse to come and see you both last minute. Ginny’s with your mum tonight and I didn’t really fancy going home to an empty house.”

Ron nodded, an expression of deep understanding on his face and Hermione had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Merlin forbid one of these men learn how to enjoy their own company. 

“I also wanted to talk to _you_ , Minister,” Harry said with a pointed look at Hermione. 

She gulped down a piece of chicken and raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really.” said Harry, scooting himself forward to lean one elbow on the table, propping his chin up with his palm, “I heard you had a visitor today.”

 _Oh_ , Hermione thought. She hadn’t told Ron about that yet. _How did he know?_

“I have many visitors every day, Harry. I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little bit more specific than that.”

“Really? One visit in particular didn’t stand out against the rest as being especially unusual and/or unpleasant?”

Hermione huffed and set her fork down more forcefully than was entirely necessary. _He’s like a niffler with a galleon_. “Oh, fine. Lucius Malfoy came to my office today.”

Ron immediately went pink, as Hermione knew he would, and began spluttering.

“Lucius Malfoy? You could have mentioned that, Hermione! That git better not have said anything to you.”

“Well, he said many things, Ron. It’s a habit of his.”

At Ron’s look of hurt and consternation, Hermione sighed and laid a comforting hand on his forearm. “He said nothing I couldn’t handle. It’s Lucius Malfoy; his bark is worse than his bite these days. Anyway,” she said, turning her attention back to Harry, “How did _you_ hear about that visit?”

Harry scoffed, “It’s the Ministry, Hermione. _Everyone_ knows.”

“Merlin, if people in that building spent half as much time _doing their bloody work_ as they did gossiping we might have something close to a utopia by now.”

Harry leaned forward and gave an impatient shake of his head. “Well? What did he want? No one’s seen him in an age, Hermione. It must have been at least a little bit interesting.”

Hermione exhaled sharply out through her nose; this wasn't really what she wanted to be talking about now that she was finally eating her dinner. “Oh, well, if you can believe it he wanted to ‘offer me his services’ as a political advisor. As though that's not utterly insulting!” 

Ron’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and he looked sharply at Harry, “Do you think he’s up to something? Bit of a weird time to come out of the woodwork.”

Harry let out a puff of breath, his eyebrows raised, and fell into the back of his chair with a muffled _thump_. “I mean, yeah it’s weird, definitely. I wouldn’t have expected Lucius Malfoy to offer his support to _any_ Muggleborn Minister for Magic, never mind you, Hermione. Did he say why?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it an offer of support. He likes power, apparently.” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes, “And he thinks I’ll need his political acumen now that I’m not standing shoulder to shoulder with Kingsley against all of the backwards facing Purebloods that are still clinging onto their posts.”

“Well, I suppose no one knows backwards facing Purebloods better than him,” muttered Ron darkly. 

“It’s moot anyway,” said Hermione, picking up her fork again, “because I told him where to go.”

Ron laughed and slapped his hand on the table in approval, “Bet that felt good.”

“Yes, it _did_ actually now that you say it.”

Ron got up out of his seat and moved over to the kitchen cupboard that held all of the glasses. “I reckon an encounter with Lucius Malfoy deserves a bit of wine, to be honest. Fancy one, Harry?”

Harry nodded absently and Ron busied himself with getting the glasses and finding the right bottle for the occasion. Looking at Harry closely, Hermione asked quietly. 

“What are you thinking, Harry?”

“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Hermione-”

“ _Harry_.”

“Look, I’m just saying maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have Malfoy on side. Or at least have him _think_ he’s on side.”

“Harry, are you mad?”

Ron brought three glasses of red wine back to the table and slid one to each of them as he returned to his seat. 

“Why are you mad, Harry?”

“Harry thinks I should take Lucius Malfoy on as my advisor.”

“That’s not what I said, Hermione,” Harry said quickly, reaching for his wine as Ron choked on his own.

“Harry, he’d probably curse her the first chance he got to make it look like an accident.”

“I’m not saying he’s suddenly a great guy that we should trust,” said Harry, looking Ron in the eyes and then Hermione, “What I _am_ saying is that I know for a fact he hasn’t been up to anything untoward recently and I don’t think he’s wrong that some of the people who were afraid to stand up to Kingsley right after the war might try to give you some trouble, Hermione.”

Although she was annoyed, Hermione allowed Harry to continue. This idea that he and Malfoy seemed to share that reactionists saw her as an easy target was almost certainly based in sexism and she intended to tell him just that when he was done.

“After the war, everyone wanted to show that they were on the ‘right’ side; that they weren’t interested in _anything_ Voldemort had to say, right? So they got on board with _everything_ Kingsley was doing. Everything progressive he made happen, they applauded it because it was the best way to show that they weren’t like Voldemort or his Death Eaters. But it’s been a long time since we stopped fighting and most people don’t give Death Eaters a second thought anymore. People who deep down didn’t feel comfortable with all of the changes Kingsley made in the name of progress and equality might try to dismantle some of them now that he’s gone and we’re all a bit less focused on stamping out Voldemort’s legacy. It’s not that you’re an easy target, Hermione,” Hermione wondered if Harry had read her thoughts, “it’s just that now is the right time and as a Muggleborn you have a point of weakness that Kingsley didn’t.”

Hermione took a sip of wine as she considered what Harry had said. He had said it with a lot more tact than Lucius Malfoy, that was for sure. 

“Even if you’re right, Harry, I still don’t see why I should give Malfoy a chance. Why wouldn’t he just join all of his little Pureblood cronies in trying to roll back progress?”

Harry shrugged, “I dunno, could be plenty of things. He won’t want to risk Azkaban, I can guarantee that. He knows we’ve got eyes on him, even now, though I don’t think he realises how many. A lot of darker wizards wouldn’t want anything to do with him, either, after he gave over so many names after the war. He’s a bit of a persona non grata with everyone these days. Besides, even if they _were_ interested in him, Lucius Malfoy doesn’t seem the type to align himself to disorganised rebel groups, never mind lead them. Too much risk. You’re the power these days, Hermione, he’s right.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting,” Harry paused, clearly being careful with his phrasing, “I’m suggesting that you maybe let him _think_ he’s helping you. He might have handed over a lot of names after the war but I’m pretty sure it was only the bare minimum; I’ll bet he still knows about witches and wizards that we should be wary of. People we haven’t even considered. If he offers again, let him give his advice and preen for a while, see what he knows. And if he doesn't know anything, drop him.”

Ron was looking at Harry as though he had never really seen him before. 

“I think working in the Auror office has brought out some Slytherin in you, Harry, it’s a bit freaky.”

Harry shrugged, “I'm starting to think there's nothing wrong with keeping your enemies close when they’re not going out of their way to kill you, that's all.” 

“Mm,” said Hermione, “The problem with Lucius Malfoy is that I’m fairly sure he tries to manipulate everything that gets close to him.”

Ron laughed and reached for Hermione's free hand, “Well, if there’s one person I think could resist a snake like Lucius Malfoy it’s you, Hermione.” 

“Cheers to that!” Harry raised his glass and Ron and Hermione clinked their own against it before falling into silence.

After a deep drink, Hermione sceptically shook her head at Ron and Harry. “I feel like we’re all forgetting that he still thinks people like me are scum, even if he isn’t quite as vocal about it.”

“Then show him just how wrong he is, or make him suffer.”

“I don’t think those things are mutually exclusive in this case, Harry.”

“Even better.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione encounters her first problem and Lucius is more than happy to lend an ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, I hope you're all doing well. Or as well as anyone can be at the moment. Hopefully some more Lucius and Hermione banter will brighten things up just a tiny bit! Interactions between these two will start to pick up from here on out! Thanks to everyone who has read/ left kudos/ commented. You're all fabby.

Hermione stood before the long mirror in the back corner of her office, adjusting her robes and smoothing her curls. She had her first meeting with all of the department heads after lunch and she was queasy with nerves and excitement. She had had individual meetings with each of the departments before now, but this was going to be the first time she had them all in a room together to start the process of laying out their cohesive vision for the future.

Satisfied that she was presentable, Hermione turned back to her desk and busied herself with her papers, shuffling them together to put in her briefcase. Her hand hovered over one particular bundle of parchment but she pulled it back with a shake of her head. For several months she had been working on a proposal for a project that she was sure would greatly improve the way young Muggleborns experienced their first years in the wizarding world, but she knew it wasn't quite ready yet. It was too close to her heart for her not to hold onto it until it had the best chance of succeeding.

"Just a reminder about that departmental meeting, Minister." said Tessa from the door.

Hermione gave her a warm smile, "Thank you, Tessa, I'll go right now."

Hermione was first into the meeting room, which wasn't all that surprising since she was 15 minutes early. It was remarkable the way people just parted in the corridors for her now that she was Minister for Magic; it took minutes off every journey. When she had first started at the Ministry she had bounced around the corridors like a pinball, trying to move out of the way of everyone who seemed to be on their way to far more important things than she was.

Taking a seat at the head of the long, shiny wooden conference table, Hermione began removing her papers from her briefcase and set out her ink pot and quill, ready for anything. Satisfied that she was prepared, she clasped her hands and sat at the table waiting. She wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing for the Minister to be the first into the room. Would everyone feel that she was chastising them for being late if she was there before them? Or if _she_ had been late, would they have thought her an arrogant woman who thought their time was less valuable than her own?

Hermione was relieved when the door to the room swung open and the other ministers began filing into the room, forcing her anxious thoughts to cease. First into the room was her Junior Assistant Gabriel. With his perfectly pressed robes, neatly combed hair and anxious demeanour he reminded her strongly of a young Percy Weasley. She had decided that it would be a small project for her while in office to make him be less hard on himself, though it was clear that it wouldn't be easy. He bustled towards her with an earnest expression and took the seat to her right, poised and prepared to record notes from the meeting.

Hermione smiled at each of the other Ministers in turn as they took their seats, appreciating that some of them smiled in return. Her former deputy, now head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Gethsemane Prickle, took a seat to her left and gave her a stern look which said "No self doubt" and Hermione immediately felt her butterflies settle slightly. She hadn't been sure about Gethsemane when she had been brought in as her deputy—the older witch had a strict personality and did not suffer fools gladly.

Hermione had been aware that Gethsemane had her own reservations about Hermione due to her fame and her age. But they had quickly proven themselves to one another as conscientious, hard-working witches and a good working relationship had developed. Hermione wasn't sure she would consider Gethsemane a close friend but she certainly liked her and wouldn't have picked anyone else to replace her in leading the department when she had moved over to Law Enforcement.

With all seven department heads now in the room, Hermione saw that her former boss from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Philip Perkins, was the last to take his seat. Perkins was a tall, thin man with a ruddy face and thick salt and pepper hair that he kept slicked back. He had worked under Yaxley in the early years of his career but after the war he had stepped straight into the role of Head of Department and had held it ever since. He took the position at the opposite end of the table from Hermione and gave her a tight smile which didn't quite reach his eyes. Hermione returned the smile, feeling slightly puzzled by his stiff posture. She and Perkins had worked well together when she had been his deputy—he hadn't had to babysit her and she had never felt belittled by him, which she had worried about when she had realised she would be working under an older man who was also an old fixture at the Ministry. Her close relationship with Harry who headed up the Auror Office meant that he hadn't really had to worry about that area of the department either. It had been ideal for everyone.

Admittedly, she realised, she hadn't really spoken to him since she had left the department and wondered if he was perhaps feeling a touch left behind by her. Hermione vowed to get Tessa to arrange for a catch-up coffee meeting between them when she got back to her office and cleared her throat to begin the meeting.

"Good afternoon everyone," Hermione said, looking around the table. She waited for the murmur of greetings to subside before continuing, "Thank you all for coming today to our first meeting of Departmental Heads. My aim for this meeting isn't anything grand; I really just want to hear how you're all feeling about your departments at the moment to get an overview of where we are—I'd love to know about any big projects you're working on and I'm also more than happy to hear about any concerns you have. I know we're all very busy but I was rather hoping this could be a monthly thing, just so that we can all set aside some time for one another and keep communications smooth and at least slightly face-to-face."

There were nods and murmurs of approval around the table and Hermione felt her confidence in her idea lift even further.

"So," she said, her voice slightly louder, "I think we should just begin and go around the table. Gethsemane, if you'd like to start us off?"

The meeting was going well and Hermione listened intently to each of her colleagues, noting down what they had to say. Gwendoline Hargrave of The Department of International Magical Cooperation told her that she would be sending over letters from the various leaders of Magical Ministries from other nations later that afternoon and that there were rumours that the International Confederation of Wizards was intending to hold a ball in the Winter which she ought to be prepared for.

Hermione nodded and noted the details down. "Would you mind lending me your ear at some point, then, Gwendoline? I would like to hear your thoughts on some of these leaders so that I can prepare to meet them—I don't want to say the wrong thing to the wrong person." Gwendoline, clearly pleased by Hermione's request, nodded.

Roger Grizzard of The Department of Magical Games and Sports mentioned the recent cursing of a Quidditch referee and the headaches the Federation of Referees was giving him in trying to get assurances that it would not be allowed to happen again.

"Ah, yes, I've heard about this, Roger. I have it on good authority that George Weasley is currently working on a broom equipped with a shield charm, which I'm hoping we can present as a long-term solution but I wonder if in the meantime it might be worth sending a couple of our Aurors to some of the more commonly heated matches to keep an eye on things. What do you think?"

Roger agreed and Hermione turned to Perkins. "Do you think that's something Harry would be able to organise, Philip?"

He gave a single nod. Feeling increasingly irritated by her former boss's standoffishness, Hermione continued.

"And what about you, Philip? How is the Department of Magical Law Enforcement faring these days?"

"Well," said Perkins, with a quick glance around the room, "we have had some rather serious issues bubble up over the past month but our most pressing concern that I think ought to be brought to your attention is that we would like to see the Dementors restored to their former position as guards of Azkaban."

There was silence around the room and the point of Gabriel's quill audibly snapped as he pressed it into his parchment too hard. Hermione watched the heads of all her colleagues, a couple of whom had clearly been dosing after their turn to speak had passed, swivel in the direction of Perkins. His expression was that of a man who had wanted to shock and who knew he had achieved his goal. Hermione felt all moisture leave her mouth and she had to roll her tongue several times before she was able to speak again.

"But, Philip, I don't understand. It was agreed years ago that it was for the best to get rid of the Dementors after the war in favour of stationing our Aurors at Azkaban. Disregarding the needless suffering they caused prisoners, the Dementors proved themselves to be unreliable and without loyalty to the Ministry."

Philip gave a deep nod, "That is true, Minister. I was present at the committee that made that decision myself." She noted the reproach in his tone, "However, I have been reliably informed by my new deputy head of department that some of our Aurors are expressing...dissatisfaction with the current arrangement. They are, it seems, running out of patience quite quickly."

Aside from everything else he was saying, Hermione was taken back by Perkins calling her "Minister". Though it was outwardly a sign of respect, she felt it was something of a rebuke for her continued familiarity with him.

"Harry hasn't mentioned anything about this." said Hermione, more to herself than to anyone else.

"Mr Potter may be the head of the Auror Office, Minister," came Perkins' sharp response, "but they do not go to him for everything. Some of our Aurors felt more comfortable expressing dissatisfaction with the current regime to myself and deputy Stommart."

Hermione was at a loss for words and was grateful when Gethsemane spoke up.

"There is a great deal of bad blood between ourselves and the Dementors, Perkins, even now. I think it would be inadvisable to press for their return for the safety of the prisoners as much as anything else."

"Then am I to understand that I am to be left to manage mutinous Aurors on my own with no hope of a solution? I don't think the wizarding public will be forever satisfied that their Aurors now spend more time guarding dark wizards than catching them. We do not have an endless supply of good talent and we are angering the little we do have."

Hermione held her hand up to stop him and spoke quickly "I will consider what you've said, Philip, and attempt to formulate some kind of solution." A smirk played around the man's lips as he bowed his head and Hermione clenched her jaw. She felt sick for the rest of the meeting.

* * *

Hermione was agitated and deep in her own head as she marched back towards her office. The rest of the meeting had gone well enough but it was only Perkins that she could think about. She hadn't expected him to come for her like that at all, never mind in her first meeting with the other departments. What was he playing at?

"Minister. Minister!" Tessa's voice cut through Hermione's thoughts and she stopped abruptly in front of her office door.

"I'm sorry, Tessa, it's been quite an afternoon so far I didn't mean to ignore you."

"That's alright, Minister, I just wanted you to know that Mr Malfoy is waiting for you in your office."

"Mr Malfoy?"

"Yes, m'am. He said you met him in the lifts and told him to wait for you in your office? Is that...not…?" At the sight of Hermione's puzzled face, Tessa looked horrified, "Oh I'm sorry, Minister! He was so convincing!"

Hermione's eyes briefly flickered shut as her head pounded particularly hard and she placed a gentle hand on Tessa's shoulder.

"Don't fret, Tessa. Just know that in future you should take everything Mr Malfoy says with a generous pinch of salt."

Tessa nodded glumly and slunk back to her seat to watch Hermione as she opened the door to her office. When she opened the door, Hermione couldn't immediately see Lucius Malfoy and she entertained a brief hope that he had decided to leave. But, on moving further into the room, she saw that he was standing in front of her bookcases, inspecting the spines that lined the shelves. His hands were behind his back, the fingers of his left hand holding the wrist of his right which was swinging his cane back and forth like a metronome.

Hermione cleared her throat and he spun slowly on one heel to face her, feigning surprise at her entrance. "Ah, Ms Granger, what a _pleasure_ to see you again so soon."

"No need to sound so surprised, Mr Malfoy, this _is_ my office." Warm with irritation and anticipating that it was only going to get worse, Hermione dropped her briefcase and unhooked her robes, hanging them on the coat stand by the door. She could feel his eyes boring into her as she yanked the cuffs of her shirt further down her wrists and straightened her tight pencil skirt at the waist. _No doubt my office wear is offensively casual to him_. Picking her briefcase back up, Hermione swiftly closed the gap between herself and her desk and slammed it down with a loud _thwack_.

"Not to be rude, Malfoy, but I hope you're intending to get to the point fairly quickly; I have even less time than I did on your last visit."

"Oh, I see." His tone was one of barely concealed amusement, "Are the responsibilities and expectations of your role pressing too heavily already?"

Hermione closed her eyes tightly for a moment to centre herself and when she opened them she found that he had somehow sidled his way over to the opposite side of her desk without making a sound. His perfect posture made him look incredibly tall and proud and his smug smile only widened as she locked his grey eyes in a glare.

" _No_. I have just had an unexpected...request. That's all. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing to do with you."

"Oh you needn't be so coy with me, Ms Granger. What was the nature of this request? I might be able to help." His voice was silky and suggestive and Hermione caught herself thinking for a wild moment that it was certainly more pleasant to be coaxed by Mr Malfoy than it was to be insulted by him.

Firing a sharp look at him, Hermione was about to respond with an aggressive "no" when she remembered Harry's words from only a few nights previously. True enough, as both he and Malfoy had suggested might be the case, she had just faced her first instance of someone trying to undo the progress she and Kingsley had made.

"It was a request," she began slowly, feeling her way through the sentence so that she wouldn't reveal more than she wanted, "which has made me see that I...may not be able to push the wizarding world further forward as quickly as I once thought."

"Oh, a reactionary _already_? Do tell me more; I am fascinated."

Looking at him, Hermione could tell by the gleam in his eyes and the way that he had leaned ever so slightly forward onto the balls of his feet that he genuinely _was_ fascinated. It had been so long since she had raised a work problem and received an invitation to expound. Most of the time when she went home to Ron with an issue he would listen to her with an earnest expression but invariably his response would be encouraging and ineffectual while inviting no further discussion. "Well you'll think of something, Hermione, you always do!" was a response that Hermione had heard more times than she could count.

Quite unlike Ron, however, Malfoy was also clearly taking pleasure in the difficulty of her situation. Or, more accurately, he was taking pleasure in the fact that it was _her_ that was in a difficult situation rather than by the difficulty of the situation in and of itself. _Ugh, I really don't want to do this_.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Hermione looked at him for a moment longer before she moved around her desk to her chair and lowered herself into it. "Alright, Mr Malfoy, why don't you take a seat?"

For what Hermione thought might have been the first time in his life, he did as directed, offering her no snide comment or condescending look. It was unsettling. He took the same seat that he had during their first meeting and placed his cane on the floor before leaning back to balance his elbows on the chair's arms and press his fingertips together into a contemplative arch. He presented an almost cartoonish image of rapt attention.

"How did you feel about the Dementors when you were in Azkaban?" Hermione asked. Knowing what she did about Azkaban, the Dementors and the length of time Malfoy had been imprisoned with them, she was very aware that it was an insensitive, perhaps even cruel, question but she was hoping to get him on the back foot for at least a part of the conversation. His smug smile faltered and his head tilted slightly as he looked at her with narrowed-eyes over his hands. It felt like he was assessing her, deciding how much he wanted to reveal.

"Well, the few feelings I was able to experience weren't particularly warm, I can tell you that."

It was an honest answer, she mused, but very much surface level. No more than she should have expected.

"Understandable," replied Hermione with a nod, "And what would you say if I told you that it has been _suggested_ to me that there currently exists a sizeable faction of people who would like to see the Dementors returned to their posts?"

Malfoy's eyebrows rose and he lowered his hands to grip the arms of the chair. " _Interesting_."

"That's one word for it, I suppose."

"I think I would say," Malfoy said, raising his right hand to rub his forefinger against his chin, "That while removing the Dementors in favour of the Aurors was certainly one of Shacklebolt's more popular moves at the time—I mean, even I didn't object—it was never suitable as a permanent solution."

Seeing Hermione's eyebrow raise, Malfoy continued, "Well, you have to look at it this way, Ms Granger: when young witches or wizards graduate from Hogwarts and decide to apply to the Auror Office, a great number of them harbour fantasies of glory. Their idols are men like Alastor Moody, for Merlin's sake, they want to live a fast, violent and - ahem - _heroic_ life. What they do _not_ fantasise about is stagnating between prison walls in the company of dark wizards who have already been caught."

"But Harry isn't like that!" Hermione pointed out with a frown, "He has no problem with taking shifts at Azkaban."

"Potter is an entirely different breed," replied Malfoy with a roll of his eyes, "He's got his glory and entered martyr territory, quite literally. He holds that fool Dumbledore's 'Greater Good' mantra far too close to his bleeding heart which only makes him more disconnected from reality. I think you will find that most of your Aurors are a good deal more self-serving than their leader."

Hermione fell back in her chair, slightly put out. She had, in the back of her mind, been grasping at a hope that Perkins was lying or that if there actually were any disgruntled Aurors it would be two or three particularly vocal ones at most. While Malfoy's was not a perspective she had considered at first, she could see the logic of it. A small smile was playing around his lips as he watched her think, a disconcerting gleam in his eyes. She felt as though he knew what she was thinking even without Legilimency.

Even if his perspective was helpful, however, it didn't provide her with anything close to a solution. Instead he had only made her see with greater clarity that she needed one. If the Aurors really were tired of guarding Azkaban then it was her job to make sure that bringing the Dementors back wasn't the only option available to the Ministry.

"While I thank you for your perspective, Mr Malfoy, it has impressed upon me the urgency with which I need to develop an alternative solution which doesn't involve bringing the Dementors back. So, if you don't mind, I would like you to leave."

"As you wish, Ms Granger," Malfoy said pleasantly, getting to his feet, "I think we have both been satisfied by this _illuminating_ discussion. I will be in touch with my own suggestions for the most appropriate course of action in the coming days. Do expect my owl."

"I'm sure I won't be able to stop you." said Hermione dryly to his retreating back.

Hermione waited until she was absolutely sure that Lucius Malfoy was far from her office before she flooed Harry. Throwing a handful of powder into her fireplace, she stuck her head into the flames and found herself with a view of Harry's office. It was far smaller than her own but its furnishings were infinitely more cosy. And more red; he had somehow managed to replicate their favourite corner of the Gryffindor common room.

"Harry!" she called, craning her neck desperately to try and see if he was present.

"Hermione?" he asked, coming into view with a roll of parchment in his hands that extended to the floor. "I didn't expect to have a meeting with the Minister today! What's happening?"

Hurriedly, Hermione detailed the events of the meeting with the Department Heads earlier in the afternoon, focusing mainly on Perkins' intimations about the Aurors. Behind his glasses, Harry's eyes widened with every word Hermione said and when she had finished talking he huffed out a long breath and ran a hand roughly through his hair.

"Well, this is the first I've heard of any of this Hermione, I swear. I mean, yeah Azkaban is everyone's least favourite shift but we're all doing it because it's for the good of the wizarding world."

Hermione felt her stomach sink at Harry's words as she realised Lucius Malfoy might have been even closer to the mark than she thought.

"Not everyone thinks in such selfless terms as that, Harry" she said with a sigh, "Look, in future I need to know about even the slightest hint of dissatisfaction in your department. I felt so blindsided in that meeting. I mean, more than anything I just can't believe Perkins would want the Dementors back; he obviously has a very short memory."

"It definitely doesn't sound like Perkins," said Harry, thoughtfully, "He's always been a very hands off department head, to be honest."

"Well, that's what I thought too! He mentioned something about his deputy having contact with some of the disgruntled Aurors; Stommart? I've never had any interactions with him as far as I can recall so I'm assuming he was brought into the department from outside to replace me."

"Yeah, he was. I think he was working in Ministries abroad before that; heard a couple of people mention America, others said something about Japan. The speed of the appointment ruffled a few feathers with some of the long-term workers who were angling for promotions, though, I can tell you that. I haven't spoken with him much yet, he seems pretty quiet."

"Well, apparently he's _not_. Anyway, keep your ears close to the ground, Harry, and if you hear anything else let me know straight away. I don't care if it's someone only complaining about the quality of biscuits we provide—I want to know about it. I'll get back to coming up with some kind of plan because I can tell you right now I am _not_ bringing the Dementors back."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy presents Hermione with a solution and she doesn't hate it. An agreement is made, but Hermione has some reservations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for continuing to read this little story. This chapter was originally in two parts but I actually liked getting the whole situation resolved in one go. Means next week we can see our leading pair start to work more seriously together! I hope you enjoy.

When Hermione arrived at her office the following morning she was tired and extremely irritable. The previous evening, she had argued with Ron into the wee hours over her late arrival home after she had spent most of the evening beating her head against her desk, trying to come up with a plan. She knew there was a simple solution, there had to be, but she was so frustrated by everything surrounding the problem that she was finding it difficult to see the wood for the trees. She was annoyed at herself for treating it all like a personal attack on herself as a Minister, but she couldn’t help it. After everything Malfoy had said it was hard not to wonder if Perkins and the Aurors would even have an issue if she wasn’t Minister for Magic and Kingsley was still in charge. 

She had only slipped her outer cloak off and gotten to her desk when Harry marched into the room, a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand and a strained look on his face. 

“Have you seen the Prophet this morning?” he asked, slapping it down on her desk so that the headline and stand-first were glaring up at her. 

"MINISTRY FACING AUROR HORROR

_Sources inside the Ministry of Magic have informed the Daily Prophet that due to an unsettled atmosphere in the Auror department, Ministers are considering restoring the Dementors to their posts at Azkaban Prison. "_

A wave of nausea hit Hermione as she snatched up the paper and unfolded it to skim-read the rest of the article. Phrases jumped out at her, none of them good. “ _Aurors are unhappy with their treatment”; “Insufficient protection for the public”; “Ministers divided”; “A blow for the Minister for Magic”._

The paper still in her hands, Hermione looked up at Harry, stricken. “ _How_ could this have reached the Prophet so quickly? _I_ only heard about any of these problems yesterday afternoon!”

Harry shook his head, “I don’t know. They’re saying ‘sources inside the Ministry’ so I can only assume we’ve had a leak. It’s a bit too accurate to be a lucky guess, let’s face it. I swear, Hermione, if this has come from inside the Auror Office I will find out who’s responsible and I _will_ do something about it.”

Hermione sighed and dropped the paper back onto her desk. She had hoped to sort something out before it got to the press—it was only her first couple of weeks and it was already being presented to the public that she was leading a fractured government prepared to roll back one of Kingsley’s most popular changes. Someone was obviously trying to apply pressure to make her fold in order to save face. 

_Tap tap. Tap tap_. 

Hermione looked up at Harry questioningly and he jutted his head towards the central window behind her desk. There was a large black Eagle owl outside, tapping its beak insistently against the glass. Moving forward, Hermione spotted a letter tied to its leg. She opened the window and it flapped in to land on her desk, giving her an imperious look as it held out its leg. 

“Thank you.” Hermione said, removing the letter and sliding a small bowl of owl treats she kept on her desk towards the animal. The owl looked down at the treats and back up at her with what she could have sworn was a withering expression. It didn’t fly away, however, so Hermione could only assume that whoever had sent the letter was awaiting a response. 

Looking down at the parchment she saw “Ms Granger” written in an elegant, sweeping script. It could only be from one person. She looked up at Harry, “It’s Malfoy.”

“Malfoy? So he came crawling back did he?”

“Slithering, more like.” said Hermione, ripping open the parchment, “And I told him about our little problem with your advice in mind. Credit where it’s due, he offered me a perspective I hadn’t considered.”

“So what’s he said?”

Hermione looked down and read: _“I have a suggestion_.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake.” said Hermione, handing Harry the note so that he could read it too. 

“He obviously wants you to ask for it.”

“Well, I won’t.”

Harry handed the letter back to Hermione with an admonishing eyebrow raise. “Do we really have the luxury of turning down any ideas at the moment? It couldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say.”

With an angry look at Harry that distinctly asked whose side he was on, Hermione turned the parchment over and grabbed her quill. She hurriedly thrust it into her ink and scribbled out a splotchy, irate sentence. 

_“Tell me.”_

Once Hermione had sent Malfoy’s owl back on its way, she and Harry sat down to wait in tense silence. Hermione considered telling him about she and Ron’s argument the previous evening, and many other evenings, but she couldn’t get the words out. She hadn’t told Harry about any of the problems they’d been having and she was fairly certain Ron hadn’t said anything either. It was odd to her, after so many years of confiding in Harry, to keep such a large part of her life from him but it didn’t feel right to ask him to take sides or even make him feel like he was being asked to do so. There were moments when she felt incredibly isolated.

Hermione jolted back to reality when there was a knock at the door and it swung open to reveal Lucius Malfoy. How he had made it to the Ministry in less than half an hour she didn’t know but he strode into the room seemingly oblivious to Tessa who was jumping up and down behind his billowing cloak in an attempt to get around him. 

“Minister, I told him you were in a meeting! He just wouldn’t listen -”

“Tessa,” Hermione said in a placatory tone, “it’s alright, honestly. Just go back to your desk.”

Malfoy watched the door close behind a thoroughly defeated Tessa before turning to Hermione, a sardonic look on his face. “I can lend you one of my dogs if you like, it might be more effective.”

Harry had leapt to his feet and seemed unsure of what to do with himself. Hermione could see him opening and closing his hand by his side as though he was debating whether or not to offer it to Malfoy to shake. Instead he simply settled on nodding and saying “Mr Malfoy” by way of a greeting. 

Malfoy looked at Harry with some surprise, as though he had genuinely not seen him in the room before he had spoken. Clearly of the same mind as Harry, he kept his hands tightly wrapped around his cane and offered a stiff nod in return. 

“Mr Potter.”

It must have been a strange moment for both of them, realised Hermione. She guessed that the last time they had seen one another would have been in a courtroom when Harry had vouched for Malfoy and his family. Although he had offered up names to the Ministry, it was Harry’s stepping up for Malfoy that kept him out of Azkaban entirely. As far as she was aware, Malfoy had never thanked Harry and Harry had never expected him to, having done what he felt was right and nothing more.

“Mr Malfoy, were you waiting and ready to go when my reply came? It would have been easier to send your owl back with your response than to apparate all the way to London.”

“I often find that giving advice by letter is inadequate. It affords so little opportunity for discussion. And I know how you so like your _discussions_ , Ms Granger.”

Harry turned to Hermione and raised his eyebrows at her as Malfoy approached the desk to take the seat next to the one Harry had been sitting in. Hermione briefly shook her head back at Harry and sat in her own seat, prompting him to follow suit. 

“Very well, since you’ve gone to so much trouble let us hear what you have to say. Quickly.”

“Truly, Ms Granger, I don’t know whether you are perpetually short of time or patience or both but your disregard for social niceties is most unstatesmanlike. But I will submit to your wishes. Have you considered creating a new office that would sit in tandem with your Aurors?”

“A new office?” asked Hermione, “As in an Azkaban guard office?”

“Precisely,” Malfoy nodded.

 _That...is not a terrible idea_ , Hermione thought. 

“If money is an issue I am more than willing to fund it myself provided it bears the Malfoy name,” Malfoy continued, “I rather think The Malfoy Division has quite a nice ring to it. Some nice _green_ uniforms, perhaps.”

Ignoring Malfoy’s secondary suggestion, Hermione looked quickly at Harry. “What do you think? Do you think it’s feasible?”

“It’s a damn sight better than the Dementors, I’ll give you that, Malfoy.”

“But won’t it take a long time to set up? I’ve rather gotten the impression that the Aurors don’t have very much patience at the moment, Harry.”

“Given your administration’s relationship with the Dementors, Ms Granger,” interjected Malfoy, “I can’t see that establishing a new office will take up any more time than a protracted and likely unsuccessful campaign to win back the loyalty of those creatures.”

Hermione tipped her head to the side acknowledging the truth of what he was saying. It would, she knew, be better to go to the Aurors with a solution that was at least workable rather than to hold everyone up in interminable discussions that might never come to anything. 

“I’m imagining,” continued Malfoy, “the request to bring back the Dementors came from your illustrious head of Magical Law Enforcement. Philip Perkins, is it? I didn’t have much time to do my reading before this particular class.” 

“How could you kn-?”

“Historically,” Malfoy explained, “unless they are one and the same person, there has tended to be some tension between the head of the Auror Office and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Aurors are the primary strength of the department and therefore its loudest and most important office. Aurors are also _generally_ loyal to their own, particularly those who lead them. Though there are moments of exception.” Here he glanced at Harry who frowned. 

“As you’d expect, this doesn’t always sit well with the overall department head, particularly if they’re not of an Auror background themselves. It would not surprise me if Perkins has taken genuine grievance and stirred it up. If it gets bad enough with no solution in sight he can move against Potter without the fear of being accused of stabbing a war hero in the back. He would simply be doing it for the good of his unhappy workers. You need to nip a move like that in the bud, provided you want to keep Potter around, which I assume you do. I advise giving Perkins a division of forces that he can oversee himself and he might feel some kind of balance has been restored. I can’t see him turning this idea down—I highly doubt he wants the Dementors back, and I don’t think he expects you to bring them back either. It’s far more likely that he just wants to cause trouble for you and Potter. Back you into a corner.”

“I don’t get it, though, Perkins has never had a problem with me before.” Harry said. Hermione noticed that Harry didn’t look so much hurt as confused—she supposed he was so used to people who didn’t like him making it violently obvious that he was thrown by the idea someone could dislike him this much and treat him with perfect cordiality.

“Not to your face, Mr Potter,” Malfoy said lightly, “Like any sensible Ministry man he will not air his grievances until the right time. There is very little but trouble to be gained from animosity for animosity’s sake.” At this he gave Hermione a meaningful look and she clenched her jaw. 

“Is Perkins in your circle of acquaintances, Mr Malfoy?” asked Hermione, hoping that they might finally be getting insight into some of the names Malfoy might have been keeping to himself.

“He is not from one of the Pureblood families and I have not made a habit of mixing with law enforcers in recent years, so no. Why do you ask?”

“You seem to understand his motivations better than Harry or I, who have worked with him for several years.”

“I simply see the dark side of ambition, Ms Granger. I may not fully understand your desire to ‘ _do good for all’_ but the motivations of those who want to do good by themselves? Well...”

Harry caught Hermione’s eye and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to have Malfoy in her orbit for a _little_ while. At least until the choppy waters of her first few months in office had settled. If she was going to have an extra pair of eyes and an extra brain to consult she would rather they saw and thought in ways that weren’t immediately natural to her. 

Sighing, Hermione sat back in her chair and leaned her elbow on one of its arms so that she could rest her head against her fist. She looked at Malfoy in silence for a moment and he simply looked back at her with a completely neutral expression, seemingly unperturbed by her scrutiny. Harry’s eyes flicked between them.

“Alright, Mr Malfoy. If this suggestion turns out to be a good one, you may act as an outside advisor for me. But you are _not_ going to be a party to everything. It’ll be case by case. And I’m not paying you.”

“I don’t work for money, _Minister_. I work for the personal satisfaction that comes with a job well done.”

“How admirable.” said Hermione dryly. His only reply was a very slight smirk.

“Right, then,” she said, pulling herself forward and looking between Harry and Malfoy, “let’s iron out the details of this proposal, shall we? Ideally I’d like to get the Quaffle rolling today.”

* * *

Hermione arranged for her meeting with Perkins to be in her own office after she and Malfoy had agreed that it would be the best location. “It’s your domain,” he had said with a nod after she had suggested it, “and he will be very aware of it.” 

It was very late in the afternoon, practically the evening, and she was feeling the effects of a very stressful day which was still far from over. She, Harry and Malfoy had spent a good portion of the morning hashing out their next steps and facing Perkins was the last one. Well, the last step of phase one. If all went according to plan, Hermione would have to instigate phase two by sending a statement to the press and a proposal to the Wizengamot. 

The relative smoothness of the rest of her meeting with Malfoy and Harry had surprised her. When he was actively planning and scheming, Lucius Malfoy managed to ease up on his snideness, seemingly less interested in getting a rise out of her and more focused on the task at hand. His manner had been professional, bordering on clinical but Hermione had found it a refreshing change. 

There had, of course, been the occasional crack in his professionalism when he directed a sarcastic jab at her when he thought she was being deliberately obstinate or obtuse (which she sometimes was) but, to his credit, when she had disagreed with him or questioned him, he had mostly been able to calmly explain his reasoning. He had even afforded her the same opportunities when their roles were reversed. Harry, for his part, had been happy to sit back and do as he was told for which Hermione was extremely grateful—she had a feeling he felt guilty that he hadn’t seen it all coming in the first place.

The three of them had agreed that creating an entirely new office would take some time to get off the ground but getting the early stages right was essential to giving the plan a chance of surviving the attempt. Malfoy had emphasised the need to move quickly so that Perkins would have no opportunity to put a spoke in the wheel. “You’ll do nothing else today,” Malfoy had said to both of them, his expression serious, “You need to move so swiftly on this that his head will spin.”

Harry had called in his Aurors first and foremost to sound the idea out with them. When he had gotten enough of a positive response, as well as a few guilty apologies from those who had gone behind his back, he had sent a memo to Hermione, letting her know that she could move ahead with the next steps, which included giving the Exchequer a reasonable amount of notice that she was going to ask for something that had the potential to be very expensive. 

When Perkins arrived at her office, he was six minutes late. Just late enough to be perceived as a slight but not late enough for her to challenge him on it without looking petty. Malfoy had told her to expect that and she was both annoyed and impressed that he had called it. He really had played the game for a long time. 

“Minister,” Perkins said with a sharp nod, taking a seat without waiting for Hermione to extend an invitation. She hadn’t bothered to get out of her own seat when he had arrived, so she supposed it was fair enough. 

“Philip, thank you for coming.” she said, “Can I get Tessa to bring you a cup of tea or a coffee? I recall you have a fondness for a good espresso.”

Hermione felt a flicker of hope when he gave her a small smile of appreciation but he followed it up with a curt shake of his head. 

“That’s very kind, Minister, but I’m quite alright going without. It’s rather late in the day for any more caffeine.”

“Fair enough. Then I won’t beat around the bush—I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to join me for a private meeting at such short notice.”

When Perkins didn’t say anything Hermione continued, “It’s in relation to what was discussed at the departmental meeting this week.”

“Ah yes, I assume you’ve been giving it some serious thought. Terrible about that report in the Prophet, by the way, but it does make it feel all the more important that we start the process now, doesn’t it? Can’t have the public worrying about an Auror strike. Think how that would make our Mr. Potter look, never mind yourself. ”

“Yes, about that,” Hermione said with a frown, “I haven’t quite come around to your way of thinking but I do have another suggestion that I think will work just as well, if not better.” 

_Definitely better_.

Perkins shifted in his seat and his face took on an expression of polite skepticism. “I see.”

“Rather than bring the Dementors back and risk disruption of the relative stability we have managed to establish in Azkaban, I would like to create a new office of guards that would sit separate to, but alongside, the Auror Office. Keeping it all under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement umbrella, of course.”

He hid it well, but Hermione could tell by his long pause that Perkins hadn’t expected this suggestion. 

“That sounds like a very long process, Minister, for such a combustible situation.”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded, “But I think that thinking in a more long-term way will help us avoid any of those silly mistakes that so often come up when one rushes into something. Who knows what the Dementors will do when we go to them? And who knows how long the Aurors will be willing to accept platitudes? This keeps things tightly under _our_ control and I think we can both agree that’s favourable.” 

“And how do you propose to fund such a venture, Minister? I don’t ever recall having a particularly large surplus in my department’s yearly accounts.”

“Oh, there’s no need to worry about that. I have already consulted the Exchequer and I personally will find a way that we can move some galleons around to accommodate such an essential venture. No one needs to lose out, it’s just about being more savvy with our spending and borrowing.”

“Well,” he continued, with a touch more bluster than before, “I’ll have to talk to the Aurors about it before I can give you any assurances. We don’t know how they’ll react to such a drastic change, Minister, you know how they’ve been recently.”

“I’ve already had Harry do that, actually. I thought it might be best coming from him as head of office. The Aurors seem to be pleased with the arrangement; they see that a workable solution is worth the wait. In fact, many of them were very pleased that we had responded to their concerns so quickly so we only have you to thank for that, Philip.”

“And has Mr Potter also arranged the training that will be required for this entirely new department?”

“Ah, yes, that is more complicated but we think we have touched on something manageable. Harry has managed to get the Aurors to agree to a transition period in which they will be shadowed during their Azkaban shifts by new recruits. I’ve always felt that learning on the job is far more efficient than anything else, haven’t you? We will of course organise theoretical and practical exams to ensure everyone is sufficiently prepared before they start working alone, but once we have enough full-time guards we can just phase the Aurors out. Some of our Aurors, in fact, have expressed a desire to transfer to this new Guard Office so we even have a few permanent staff to start us off. It seems that not _everyone_ was dissatisfied with their Azkaban shifts.”

Rather than looking at her, Perkins was pink-faced and staring hard at the floor as though hoping that he would find his next argument there. Now that she had stuck in the knife, Hermione was seized by a sudden desire to twist it violently, to tell him that this new office would be under Harry’s control too and if he didn’t like it then tough. But if Malfoy was right and Perkins really was just looking to feel like he was on a more equal footing with Harry then she would gain nothing but a grim, temporary satisfaction and lose any chance at making him her ally again. With that in mind, Hermione decided to extend a small bit of kindness and softened her tone. 

“While I suggest that one of our most experienced Aurors who has expressed a willingness to transfer lead operations in Azkaban itself, I would like the Guard Office to primarily be answerable to you, Philip.”

He looked up at her then, his chin tilted to the side.

“Is that an arrangement that appeals to you?”

Perkins’ eyes narrowed and for a moment Hermione worried that he might still turn her down. _Maybe Malfoy was wrong, maybe he really_ does _just want the Dementors back_. But then he nodded twice, the second nod more having more certainty than the first.

“Excellent. I’m glad you’re on board. I will arrange for a statement to be sent to the press so that we can straighten everything out at that end. Oh, and I’ll need to get an advertisement written up once the Wizengamot gives the go ahead. Of course, we both know the Wizengamot is just a formality, really.”

“I will be wanting a raise to go with the additional responsibilities,” Perkins bit out, his tone bordering on petulant. 

“A fair request, Philip.” said Hermione mildly, her smile cold, “But we will save that particular discussion until after we have established with more specificity what your additional responsibilities will be.”

“...Very well. Will that be all, Minister?”

“Yes, I think that _is_ all, thank you. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

Perkins didn’t say anything else, he simply rose to his feet and walked out of the room, closing the door with more force than necessary, though he could not have been accused of slamming it. 

When his footsteps faded, Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding and sunk into her seat, unable to stop a small victorious smile playing about her lips. She had rather enjoyed that and she knew it was because she had won. The Dementors would not be returning to Azkaban and she had shown Perkins that she was not to be underestimated. Though now she knew the same went for him. 

Her work was not done, however. Pulling a sheet of pale violet parchment towards her, Hermione grabbed her quill and wrote a brief message: “All as hoped. The new office goes ahead.” She tapped the sheet with her wand and it quickly folded itself into an airplane. “Harry Potter” she whispered to it and it flew over to her door, flattening itself out to squeeze through the gap at the bottom and emerge into the Ministry corridors.

With that out of the way, Hermione pulled a second sheet of parchment out of a pile where she had hidden it so that Perkins had no chance of seeing it. It was a pre-written statement announcing her intention to begin the process of creating the Guard Office to the Prophet in which she had detailed everyone’s excitement about the new venture (including Perkins’) and her absolute certainty that the Dementors would never be needed again. Now she just had to send it off and wait for it to appear in the morning Prophet. While she was checking over the release one last time, there was a knock at her door. Tessa poked her head in and smiled.

“Minister, Gethsemane is here to see you. Would you like me to let her in?”

Hermione set down her quill and got to her feet, replying “Absolutely.” 

When Gethsemane entered the office, Hermione reached across her desk to shake the witch’s hand warmly. Gethsemane’s grip was tight but in a manner that spoke to her self-assurance and competence rather than to any aggression.

“Gethsemane, what can I do for you?” Hermione asked, sitting back down. 

“Honestly, Hermione? Primarily I’ve come to talk to you about our Dementor issue. I saw the issue of the Prophet this morning and it’s absolutely outrageous! I will not have you feeling pressured to accept Perkins’ proposal or do anything drastic. I owled some of our wizards out in the field and have just received responses which state in no uncertain terms that the Dementors will not be interested in entering _any_ discussions with us never _mind—”_

“Gethsemane,” Hermione interrupted as gently as she could, “I cannot express how much I appreciate the speed with which you have moved on this but I think the matter may now be in hand. I hope you don’t mind that I haven’t told you before now; I have only just had a meeting with Perkins.”

By way of explanation, Hermione handed the older witch the press release she was preparing to send out. Gethsemane read it quickly and when she looked back up at Hermione it was with an expression of abject relief.

“Oh, thank Merlin! An elegant solution, I commend you. Though I’m sure it will take some time.”

“I am happy to say that Perkins and the Aurors are amenable,” said Hermione with a blush, deliberately skipping over Malfoy’s involvement. “I think we have a long-term solution at last.”

“Well, that makes our meeting a very brief one!” Gethsemane declared with a smile, “I do like it when my worries are put to bed as fast as they arose.”

As she leaned her weight on the arms of the chair in preparation to stand up, Gethsemane paused for a moment and looked at Hermione, her clear blue eyes clouding over with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “Though, now that I’m here, there is one thing I have been considering asking you about.”

“You know you can ask me anything, Gethsemane. Your concerns are mine, after all.”

Dropping herself back into the seat with a small huff, Gethsemane fixed Hermione with her most frank expression. It was an expression that always made Hermione feel slightly nervous; it usually meant that she was going to be asked a difficult question or told an unpleasant truth. 

“I’ve been hearing rumours around the Ministry that Lucius Malfoy has been seen in the vicinity of your office recently. Are they true?”

 _Oh no_. 

“They are,” replied Hermione. There was very little point in lying to Gethsemane but also very little point in giving away more truth than she had to, “He has offered me his advice and I have decided to take it. When it’s worth listening to, of course.”

“I see,” Gethsemane paused for a moment, considering her next words, “You are my Minister for Magic, Hermione, not some foolish girl so I say this with respect and not because I do not trust you, but because I do not trust him: be careful around Lucius Malfoy. I won’t deny that he can be a clever man and I have never been averse to different perspectives, as you well know, but I get the distinct impression that he doesn’t give without expecting in return.”

With a respectful nod, Hermione felt a rush of affection for Gethsemane and a deep unease about her fledgling agreement with Malfoy. “Thank you, I appreciate your concern, Gethsemane. But I can promise that he’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, if there’s anyone I can believe when they say that it’s you. Then I have come here to say everything I had to say. I appreciate you taking the time, Hermione. I know you must be busy.” 

Hermione smiled, shrugging her shoulders, “It comes with the territory. But I always have time for you so please don’t hesitate to drop by when you want. Even if it’s just for tea. If anything I would appreciate the company.”

When Gethsemane had departed, Hermione sat in silence, drumming her fingers rapidly against the press release she was going to send. Making a snap decision, she pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards her and picked up her quill once more. Brushing the feather lightly against her lips, she then dipped the nib in her ink and scribbled quickly. 

_“Mr Malfoy,_   
_  
_ Congratulations, your plan worked. Expect to see your handiwork in the Prophet tomorrow morning. I think if you are going to continue offering me advice it would be prudent to have my private fireplace connected with yours via the Floo Network. Is this acceptable to you?

_Hermione Weasley.”_

Once she had folded the letter up and written Malfoy’s name on the front, Hermione took it along with the statement for the Prophet to the Ministry’s Owlery, finding it mercifully empty. Unlike the Hogwarts Owlery it was, like the rest of the Ministry, underground, with several large chimneys up to the surface doubling as a light source and an exit for the owls. 

A cold breeze swept into the room from above and Hermione shivered as she picked her way over droppings and dead mice. Wanting to be sure that her two letters would be kept absolutely separate, Hermione recruited two of the Ministry’s barn owls, sending the first on its way to the Prophet before turning to the second with her letter to Malfoy. She hesitated as she attached the letter, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Her mind was made up for her when the impatient owl, tired of standing with its leg out, nipped at her finger and forced her to let go so that it could be on its way. Checking for droppings, Hermione leaned gingerly against one of the walls to await Malfoy’s response, absentmindedly sucking at her finger where the owl had broken skin.

It felt wrong to offer a man who had once been one of her sworn enemies, and still was to some degree, unguarded access to her person. But Gethsemane’s concern about her dealings with him had made her apprehensive—if Gethsemane was perturbed, no doubt other people in the Ministry would be too.

Hermione knew, of course, that she couldn’t keep it entirely secret that she was consulting Lucius Malfoy on even a small number of Ministry matters and she didn’t intend to. Being secretive would invite more suspicion than being open about it. But she did want to do her best to make her interactions with him as invisible as possible. People could know, yes, but the less they saw of it, the less they would think about it and she was happy with that arrangement.

Within half an hour she had her reply. 

_“Ms Granger._

_I am unsurprised. With regards to the Floo Network, please be my guest. The library in my private study would be best—no one else has access to it._

_Lucius A. Malfoy.”_

Rolling her eyes at the way he had heavily underlined “Ms Granger” three times, Hermione made her way back down to the main building of the Ministry, intending to arrange everything immediately. 

* * *

When the lift welcomed her to " _Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Centre_ " she had to take a moment to get her bearings; she was so rarely on the sixth floor and it was a cavernous, open-plan space with ironically little directional information. Aware that she was attracting the attention of curious workers who were no doubt desperate to know why the Minister for Magic would be visiting their floor on a random evening, she moved quickly through the corridors and eventually found the Floo Regulation Network in the section of the office furthest from the lifts. Typical. 

As it was well after 6pm, many of those who worked in the Floo Regulation Network had long since gone home. The few who were left at their desks could be seen animatedly conversing with one another over piled bags of Floo Powder and all manner of colour-coded regulation slips. 

It took only a moment for Hermione to find who she was looking for. He was a young man, barely out of Hogwarts, who was not involved in discussion with his colleagues. Working on the assumption that he was either unpopular or not interested in interacting with others, Hermione hoped that he was not inclined to deal in gossip. When she cleared her throat, the young man looked up from his work and Hermione noticed with amusement that the impatient and rude greeting he had clearly planned on giving died on his lips at the sight of her.

“M-minister! What are you doing here? I mean,” he collected himself with a small shake of his head, “is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, I would like to add a fireplace to the list of those permitted to access my private office.”

“Absolutely,” said the young man, finding his most professional tone and pulling a leaf of parchment towards himself. “I’ll note it down and action it straight away. Which fireplace are you looking to add? If you can give as many details as possible with regards to its location it’ll make it easier for me.”

Hermione glanced around surreptitiously and, bending towards the young man, she said in a lowered voice, “It’s Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire and the fireplace in question is in the manor’s study. I’m sure there are dozens of others in the house but I’m limiting it to just that one.”

The young man, who had started scribbling intently paused for a moment to look up at her with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. Just as she hoped, he didn’t indulge his nosy instincts and instead kept to the official questions.

“Would you like to apply a time limit to this access, Minister?”

“No, let’s call it an indefinite arrangement. And I would appreciate your discretion with this,” Hermione’s eyes flicked quickly down to the golden nameplate on his desk and back up to his face, “Rudyard.”

He nodded earnestly, “Yes, Minister, of course; you can count on me.”

“Good,” Hermione smiled kindly and straightened up before raising her voice so that the entire room could hear, “It’s always so good to have a diligent worker to rely on, thank you for your help, Rudyard.”

Red spread across Rudyard’s round face like he was a Rememberall and she could tell he was both abashed and pleased by the sudden interest of his remaining colleagues who had looked over to see who was being so publicly praised by the Minister. With a friendly smile, Hermione turned on her heel and marched back towards the lift, happy in the knowledge that a day which had started out so badly was ending with a modicum of positivity, even if Lucius Malfoy was in part to thank for that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Hermione come up against an unexpected problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone ^_^ Thanks for your kind reactions to this story! Things are going to start picking up pace. I'm always quite a few chapters ahead in writing this story so I should probably warn that I think the rating will go up to E at some point, just to give everyone some notice. Enjoy!

By the time she was in her sixth week in office, Hermione Granger was cautiously optimistic. After the hellishness of her first couple of weeks, things seemed to have settled down somewhat. Organisation of the new Azkaban Guard Office was moving slowly but steadily; the majority of the rest of the Wizengamot had, as she knew they would, agreed with her on everything and raised no obstacles. Going to the Wizengamot hadn’t exactly been necessary just to create a relatively minor new office within a department but given said office was going to be within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and would have a direct impact on the criminals that the Wizengamot itself sentenced, she had thought it only polite to include her fellow lawmakers in proceedings. It would surely pay dividends in the future. 

A less enjoyable moment had come when she had been forced to swallow her pride and turn to Malfoy for guidance on some of the accounts for the new office that she was supposed to submit to the Exchequer for approval. While Hermione loved arithmancy, she hated finances. They were very different kinds of sums and Hermione felt attaching a financial value to a number stripped it of its magical properties. 

As she had expected from a man with vast sums of money, Malfoy felt quite differently; he had been a dab hand with balancing the books and had skimmed enough wasted galleons from other departments to generate a good starting fund for the new office. There had been a brief tussle when he had insisted that she move every department to cheaper brands of biscuits and tea but she had eventually relented, partly as a way of thanking him for pointing out to her that the Muggle Liaison Office was sourcing its Muggle disguises from expensive designers and having the Ministry pay for it. 

“Who are Paul Smith and Yves Saint Laurent and why are they costing your Muggle Liaison Office 1000 Galleons per  _ month _ ?” he had asked from behind her desk, looking up from the large tomes of accounts with a bewildered expression. 

Hermione had practically run over to the other side of the desk where she read the page upside down in disbelief. 

“Those absolute chancers! We can make a sizeable cut to that budget, I assure you.”

“Very well,” he had murmured, noting the details on a separate sheet of parchment, “And  _ who _ are they?”

“Muggle clothing designers. Very expensive,” Hermione explained, then added slyly, “You’d probably like them.”

“I am wealthy, Ms Granger, yes, but I also have  _ taste _ and therefore no interest in your Muggle tailors. Especially not when so many of them seem to be so enamoured with that horrendous  _ denim _ material that Draco has taken to wearing around the manor.”

Hermione had rolled her eyes and pushed the matter no more, though she made a mental note to suggest a casual Friday in the office just so that she could wear her jeans and rile him. There had not been a single time that she had seen him in anything less than full, exquisitely cut robes with a high shirt collar and cravat, so perhaps Muggle designers  _ would _ be a touch risque for him. When she had tried to picture him in jeans she’d been forced to stifle a giggle, earning her a withering glare from him. 

They had only had a small number of meetings since their first but they all followed a similar routine; Hermione would contact him via the Floo Network to ask for his opinion or a favour about the Guard Office, he would visit her office for a discussion, then he would either return to the manor or they would work quietly in her office with breaks to snipe at one another over trivialities until his departure. 

Hermione found it difficult to feel entirely comfortable and relaxed when Malfoy was in her office - though quiet he was very much a ‘presence’- but she also found that a little verbal spar with him could liven up an otherwise paperwork-heavy afternoon more effectively than a strong coffee. If his mind was sharp, his tongue was sharper and it was nice to take some of her daily frustrations out on someone who gave as good as they got so that she didn’t have to feel guilty. Ron had a tendency to take her snappishness too personally. Or he would reply with an overly personal attack. Malfoy toed the invisible line between cutting and cruel with a surprising deftness given she knew he had a much greater capacity for cruelty than Ron. It was, she thought, a simple case of large clouds and extremely thin silver linings. 

She had been worried when reports of his small advisory role had started to seep from the Ministry corridors into the gossip columns of Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet but he had simply waved a dismissive hand when she had broached the subject with him. 

“Ms Granger, the gossip columns will always salivate over matters such as these,” Hermione had mused that she knew that only too well, “but they don’t actually  _ know _ anything. We are, for all intents and purposes, giving the Wizarding World an example of post-war co-operation and they cannot reasonably criticise that as an idea. Even if they  _ can _ criticise us individually. Besides, you have taken  _ great pains _ to make my visits here practically invisible, so how can they speculate any further on that which they cannot even see?”

Hermione had wondered after that little barbed comment if he was annoyed that she had put an end to his public marches to her office—she imagined he enjoyed the idea of being seen to visit her as it would likely restore some of his social and political clout—but he had not protested her insistence on using the Floo Network which, quite confusingly, made her feel both appreciative and uneasy. 

Yes, as she approached the end of the first day in her sixth week in office, Hermione Granger was feeling cautiously optimistic. Or at least she was until, in a flash of green flame, a very angry Lucius Malfoy appeared in her fireplace, brandished the evening edition of the Daily Prophet in her face and venomously hissed “you idiot”. 

* * *

As he sat down to an early supper of venison stew with a glass of wine, Lucius Malfoy was feeling cautiously optimistic about his situation. Hermione Granger had been in office for six weeks and despite a somewhat rocky start, things seemed to be going relatively smoothly and he knew that in a big way he was to thank for that. Not that she  _ had _ thanked him. He didn’t allow that to irk him a great deal; he had known going into this arrangement that Mudbloods were lacking in manners. 

Advising her didn’t take up a huge amount of his time—they had had only a handful of meetings so far—but he was enjoying having access to the machinery of government again as well as having things other than Draco’s persistently non-existent children, whiskey or his next meal to occupy his mind.

Granger’s company, on the other hand, was a more mixed bag. When they were talking strategy or establishing a plan, he had been surprised to find that she was intelligent, reasonable and a rather generous conversational partner; she never, for instance, needlessly interrupted him when he was trying to explain something — a pet hate of his. Such graciousness made it slightly easier to suppress the voice in his head which sounded curiously like his father that seemed intent on reminding him at three second intervals that she was a Mudblood. 

When they weren’t discussing work, however, she reverted to being her irksome, disrespectful, mannerless self and had she not been his Minister for Magic he would have cursed her by now. Admittedly, there were afternoons where he had found himself rather enjoying the diversion of parrying the verbal stabs from her sharp little tongue to land a blow of his own. Invariably, however, that internal voice reminded him that he was bantering with a Mudblood and if he had any self-respect he’d either leave or make her eat her words. It was, he thought, to his credit that he hadn’t listened to it yet.

He had known he wouldn’t be able to put aside his feelings about Muggles and Mudbloods entirely, he hadn’t intended to either. The struggle was worth it for the sake of the family name; he had certainly suffered worse affronts to his sensibilities for that cause. 

The thing that bothered him more than anything was the way she bundled him into her office through the Floo Network like he was her dirty little secret. He, a Malfoy, ushered in the back door in the manner of a servant! He had been intending to use his proximity to her to grow his own circle of influence but with their current arrangement he was getting more proximity than anything else. 

He understood her well enough by this time to know that the Floo arrangement was because she was worried that association with him might blemish her flawless reputation, so he was willing to acquiesce for a time so that he wouldn’t scare her off. But he was growing impatient. The gossip columns had, at least, ensured people knew he was a presence. He was sure that as she grew more used to him she would become less vigilant and he intended to start pushing for his visits and his services to be made far more public at that point. 

Yes, Granger was often difficult but when she looked good, it increased the chances that he would too and as far as he could tell there was no trouble brewing for her. Straightening his waistcoat with a sharp tug, Malfoy reached for the evening edition of the Daily Prophet which had arrived only minutes before, intending to skim it as he ate. When he unfolded the newspaper and saw the headline, however, all thoughts of food immediately left his mind. 

_ “CORRUPTION AND CRONYISM AT THE MINISTRY _

_ The Minister for Magic has questions to answer after The Daily Prophet has received reports that the Ministry is spending exorbitant sums in a new order with her husband’s company Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” _

“Merlin’s bloody balls.”

Forgetting his supper, Malfoy leapt to his feet and taking wide strides he walked as quickly as he could without running towards his study, cursing the fact that it was so far from the dining room. Foregoing the fuss of his cloak and robe, he headed straight to the fireplace and flung the Floo Powder down into the grate. 

“Minister for Magic’s office!”

When the flames cleared he was relieved to find her still at her desk, clearly yet to read the paper. He marched forward, resisting the urge to slap her with his own copy and hissed “you idiot.”

She looked at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, clearly taken aback by his anger. He had done rather a good job of keeping his temper under control until this moment but it wasn’t his fault that she was so maddeningly dim. 

“Where are your  _ robes _ ?” she asked, staring at his long white shirtsleeves and brocade waistcoat in disbelief. 

“My state of dress is the least of your worries this evening, Ms Granger,” he spat, throwing the Prophet onto her desk, “Tell me, do you actually read the news? Or is that now my job?”

The angry retort that he could tell had been on the tip of her tongue fizzled out as soon as she looked down at the front page. Grabbing the paper in both hands, she read quickly, her face growing more panicked with each word and he felt a grim satisfaction at being able to witness her grasp the severity of the situation first-hand. 

“I don’t - I -”

Malfoy closed the gap between himself and the front of her desk and placed both of his hands on its surface, leaning down with hunched shoulders to look her in the eyes.

“Do you, or do you not, purchase products from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes for the Ministry of Magic? And have you, or have you not, just put in a rather large pre-order for their new line of shielded brooms?”

“I  _ do _ but the Ministry has been doing that for years! Even when I was working in Law Enforcement the department ordered the products in, why wasn’t it a problem then?”

“Because you weren’t the bloody Minister for Magic and it therefore wasn’t  _ convenient _ to anyone for it to be a problem then, woman! Did you  _ honestly _ not think this would be an issue when you took office and consider other suppliers?”

“I mentioned it in passing once to George and he told me that they’re the only ones who make products like that and as far as I could tell, he’s right! So I thought it’d be better to keep ordering than to deprive the departments of such necessary equipment.”

“Oh, and you believed him did you? You believed him when he said that  _ no one else in the Wizarding World _ makes hats and cloaks imbued with shield charms?” Malfoy asked, straightening up and crossing his arms. His expression was utterly disbelieving and he could see a blush creeping up her neck. 

“I had no reason not to, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione snapped, her tone moving from worried and frightened to angry and defensive very quickly, “George has never lied to me before. Well, not in any serious way.”

“Of course he told you there are no other options; he’s a businessman. He has to protect his own interests first.”

“George isn’t like that!”

“Ms Granger, anyone who has a business that is as successful as Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes has to be like that to  _ some _ degree. Do not be so naive, it neither suits you nor does you credit.”

“But it’s Ron’s shop, too.”

“Can you not see how that makes this even  _ worse _ ?” he exclaimed, his voice rising again, “The Minister for Magic is effectively lining the pockets of her own robes by directing Ministry funds through her husband’s business. Do not tell me that you cannot see the issue here from the perspective of the public.”

“Oh, Merlin,” whispered Hermione as it dawned on her just how bad this was and had the potential to be. The idea of doing anything genuinely wrong, of not meeting expectations, always made her feel ill but this was on another level. The one evening she had felt secure enough not to scour the newspaper from front to back looking for mentions of her name and this was what happened. 

“Ms Granger,” Malfoy said, his impatience growing as he watched her deflate, “Now is not the time to spiral, this is salvageable.” In their brief acquaintance he had never seen Hermione Granger look overwhelmed and it wasn’t to his taste at all.

“Salvageable with my resignation, I suppose,” she replied, her voice muffled by her hands which she had pressed against her entire face. 

“No,” he snapped, “and not with your self-pity either. You have made an extraordinarily stupid mistake and you will have to live with it. But it is a stupid  _ mistake _ and that is the key here.”

Hermione spread her fingers to peer at him from between the gaps. With a sigh he dropped into a chair in front of her desk and perched on the edge of the seat to lean towards her. 

“Anyone who was going to illicitly funnel Ministry money through the businesses of family and friends in order to make a personal profit would be a touch more subtle than this, Ms Granger. Trust me, I know. You have not been obfuscatory in any way; it is clearly a conflict of interest oversight in the early days of a new administration. But we must act quickly and decisively if you are to do any kind of damage control.”

Lowering her hands by degrees, Hermione nodded fervently, seeing the logic of what he was saying. Then she paused, fully appreciating to whom she was talking.

“Why are you so willing to help me? Surely this is the perfect time to step back and watch me tumble to the bottom like you predicted.”

“Did I not also tell you that I like proximity to power? At the moment, you are the closest thing I have to that and I will be damned if I am going to lose it so quickly because of something as absurd as this. I do not waste my time, Ms Granger and I certainly do not have it wasted for me.”

Malfoy was pleased to see that the self-interested transparency of his explanation apparently satisfied her as she visibly steeled herself and fixed him with a determined stare. Her warm brown eyes were flashing and he was pleased to see that all the colour that had drained from her cheeks just moments before was returning as an embarrassed and angry flush. 

“Right then, Mr Malfoy, if this is so easy to solve, where do we start?”

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Lucius work on a problem and Ron doesn't like the solution.

As she was finding to be the case with many of the things Lucius Malfoy had said to her in their short time knowing one another, Hermione didn’t particularly like his suggestions for her next steps but she saw the sense in them. 

She was going to cancel the pre-order for the brooms, the first order she had made as Minister and no doubt the order that had justified the writing of the report. And she was going to drop Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes as a contractor until an independent review into her involvement in the business had taken place. Hermione knew that Ron and George would be furious with her after all the money they had funnelled into the brooms but she didn’t doubt that they would be able to sell them directly to some kind of Quidditch association and clutched at this to keep the guilt and worry from consuming her. 

For two hours she and Malfoy had been discussing the best options and working on the statement that she was going to send to the Prophet ahead of the morning edition. “It must be firm and conciliatory without being apologetic. This was an oversight Mrs Granger—you have not been caught out, you have been made aware.”

The hour was growing later and Hermione knew that the darkness outside would be deepening. She had received owls of concern from Harry, Kingsley, Gethsemane and her Junior Assistant, Gabriel, but had ignored them all. A grogginess was settling on her mind as she sat at her desk, head bent over parchment, the scribble of her quill sounding obnoxiously loud in the quiet. Malfoy was pacing back and forth in front of her desk, waiting for her to be finished and she was wasting a precious amount of her remaining focus on trying not to snap at him to bloody sit down.

At some point in the course of their discussions, he had unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows in a way that was disarmingly casual. Hermione had never seen him look less put together and she found it impossible not to peek at the faded but still-visible Dark Mark that was branded on his forearm. If he had seen her looking he had not said anything, though she had noticed that for the most part he attempted to keep that part of his arm turned in towards his body. 

His impatience clearly winning out, Hermione felt a small gust of air as Malfoy prowled around to her side of the desk and began to read over her shoulder. There was a good distance between his chest and the back of her head but then he placed his left arm around the side of her body so that he could lean his hand on the desk and his head appeared just at the side of hers. Hermione was suddenly very aware that she had never been this close to him before. If his hair had not been pulled back she was sure she would have felt it tickling the side of her face. Trying not to turn and look at the side of his face, she focused intently on the parchment with him, though she found herself slowly inhaling his aftershave, which was a heady mix of sandalwood, leather and something spicy she couldn’t put her finger on. He smelled as wealthy as he looked.

“This reads well but do ensure you emphasise that it’s to be an _independent_ review,” he said, his voice just above her ear as he brought his right hand forward on her other side to point out the section where she’d missed that detail. 

He waited until Hermione had made the edit before straightening up to move back around to the front of her desk and Hermione let out a low breath. 

“You ought to send that to the Prophet tonight and have it in the morning edition,” he said, sinking into his chair, “It’ll get the story straight. _Then_ you can sort the review. There’s a good chance the contract will be allowed to begin again, actually, but you don’t want to do anything without having that third-party approval.”

“I’ll have to tell Ron before it gets into the Prophet,” Hermione muttered, now dreading her return home. She was already late; telling Ron that she was pulling Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ government contract with no notice would not improve his mood. 

“If Weasley has any sense, though I admit I have many reasons to doubt that, he will allow this to go ahead without batting an eye. It is as much for the reputation of his business as it is for you.”

“What I don’t understand ,” she continued, ignoring Malfoy’s jibe “is why this news story broke in the evening edition of the Prophet. Surely the morning edition would have more impact as more people read it?”

“With a story that has this much general interest, Ms Granger, it doesn’t entirely matter whether it’s published in the morning or the evening in terms of getting traction. What publishing in the evening _does_ do, however, is make it more difficult for you to act quickly. The Ministry is beginning to clear out by the time the evening Prophet hits news stands - it is for the evening commuters - and there is a chance that you yourself would already be home and limited in what you can do until the next day, by which time _everyone_ is talking about it and control of the narrative is already slipping away from you.”

Malfoy’s expression became contemplative as she folded the parchment and wrote the Prophet’s address on the front. He wasn’t staring at her so much as through her when he next spoke. 

“Between this and the report on the Dementors, I am beginning to think that you either have a mole in the Ministry that’s working for the Prophet or someone in your employ who very much wishes to cause problems for you.”

Hermione stopped arranging the letter and looked at him thoughtfully, “Now that you say that, no one at the Prophet should know about that broomstick order. Ron and George haven’t even announced the product yet and the Ministry wasn’t going to mention anything until we had the brooms actually in hand.”

He nodded as though she was confirming a suspicion for him. “Definitely something to look into, then.”

They lapsed into silence and Hermione found herself entertaining the idea of applying the pimple jinx she had used for the DA list to every employment contract going forward. 

“Has anyone been newly hired since you took up your post that might be privy to the information that’s been leaked so far?” Malfoy asked.

“The Ministry is a big place, Mr Malfoy, I imagine dozens of people have been hired over the past week alone,” Hermione replied with a frown.

“Yes, but not all of them will have been aware of the discontent in the Auror Office, nor would they know anything about your recent broomstick order. We need someone who will have known of both.”

He was right. Hermione mulled over everyone she had been in contact with over the past few months, running the feather of her quill lightly over her lips as she thought. Gabriel had been known to her for a long time before she had brought him in as her Junior Assistant and she trusted him implicitly; Tessa knew almost everything about her movements but she didn’t know any of the details; only a few weeks ago she would have accused Perkins but she was sure she’d smoothed things out with him now. But his department was certainly most in the know where all of those matters were concerned...

“Stommart.” Hermione said suddenly. “My replacement as Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry said he was appointed by Perkins practically out of nowhere and when Perkins sprung the Aurors’ complaints on me, he mentioned that Stommart had been involved. As Deputy Head Perkins will also have made him aware of any new orders for the department.”

“Well, it’s something to go on.” Malfoy said, his mouth set in a thin line. 

“If I’m honest I’m not sure how I would go about finding the truth of the matter, Mr Malfoy. Not without running with risk of looking like an aggressive and unfair employer. I can’t pull a man into my office purely because he’s quiet and new.”

“ _You_ don’t have to do anything.” Malfoy’s response was quiet but he looked up and locked her eyes with his own. Hermione raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth slightly in realisation. 

“Then what are _you_ going to do?”

“Find out the truth of the matter.” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. Hermione’s eyes darted down to the Dark Mark still on show on his forearm and this time he definitely did see her.

“For Merlin’s sake, Ms Granger, I’m not going to string him up by his thumbs and torture the answer out of him.”

As soon as the word “torture” left Malfoy’s mouth it hung in the air between them, changing the atmosphere entirely. Hermione shifted in her seat and unconsciously rubbed at her own forearm through her robes, touching the spot where Bellatrix had so kindly left her mark in Malfoy’s own home. 

“Ms Granger,” Malfoy’s voice was softer, though not kinder, as he said her name, “I will simply ask some questions, talk to the man himself if need be. Nothing more than that.”

He hadn’t acknowledged her discomfort. Hadn’t apologised. He had simply stepped around it like it was a wailing child in the street to whom he had no relation and Hermione found she wasn’t entirely angry about it; that was not a conversation she was sure she was willing to have with him just yet. Perhaps ever.

“Very well,” Hermione said after several beats of silence, “Find out what you can. If he _is_ sending these stories to the Prophet then we’ll just have to mount that broom when we come to it. For now,” she lifted the statement for the Prophet and waved in the air, “I’ll get this sent off. And then I’ll have to go home and tell Ron the news.”

Understanding that he was being dismissed, Malfoy got to his feet and returned to the fireplace. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Hermione called as his hand dipped into the Floo Powder pot, causing him to turn back to look at her, one eyebrow arched curiously. “Thank you for your time this evening. I think this will do the trick.” He gave her a single nod of acknowledgement before he threw down the powder and returned to his manor. 

* * *

When Hermione arrived home later that night, her dread was the only thing keeping her tired mind alert. The front room was in darkness which meant that Ron had probably gotten tired of waiting for her and had moved himself up to their bedroom. 

Easing herself quietly into the hall, she turned on the light, slipping off her shoes into the space under the radiator as she shrugged her cloak off. Creeping upstairs, she saw that there was indeed a sliver of light emanating from under their bedroom door and she gripped the bannister for support. She had done the right thing, she knew that, but she wasn’t sure Ron would see it exactly the same way. 

When Hermione opened the door, Hermione found Ron sitting up in bed watching the small television she had convinced him to fit to the wall opposite. Ron very rarely watched television; he just couldn’t find a great deal of enjoyment in sitting down to what he effectively saw as a smaller version of one of the paintings in Hogwarts. But increasingly, on some of her later nights at work, she had returned home to find that he had fallen asleep in front of some programme or other. Television was a form of company, she knew, and it never failed to make her feel guilty that he was having to turn to it in her absence. 

“This is the latest you’ve been in a while.” He said with a yawn, keeping his eyes fixed on the glow of the screen but turning the volume down until it was only dull background noise. 

“I know,” said Hermione, keeping her position by the door, “But it’s been a stressful day. Did you see the evening Prophet?” 

If he had seen it, at least that would reduce the amount of explaining she had to do. 

“Of course not, you know I don’t read that rag any more, Hermione. Not after everything in the lead up to the war.”

With a sigh, Hermione moved further into the room. “Well, there was _quite_ the article this evening. Accusing me of corruption or cronyism or something.”

“What?” cried Ron, sitting up straight to finally look at her properly, “That’s ridiculous, Hermione, you’re the least corrupt person I know! You wouldn’t even take all those amazing discounts and free things people tried to offer us after Harry defeated You-Know-Who!”

“Yes, well, the article wasn’t entirely _wrong_. It was to do with...with the contract the Ministry has with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

Ron snorted, “Well, that’s daft. That contract has been going since long before you became Minister for Magic so it’s not like you’ve just started giving out money to us now that you can.”

Hermione’s mouth twisted with dismay, “That’s the thing, Ron, I just put through that pre-order for the brooms and someone is clearly seizing on it to put it out there that I’m giving favourable government contracts to my family. I may not have made the previous orders but I’ve made this one and it’s...it’s pretty sizable.”

“Yeah but Hermione,” said Ron with a disbelieving laugh, “The Prophet is clearly grasping with that. No one will think you’ve done anything wrong here, you’re just keeping up the status quo.”

“Not everyone knows me like you do, Ron. I have to do some damage control and prove that I’m not just taking advantage of an existing contract to make a quick sickle. I have to get an independent body to review my relationship with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to make sure that everything is above board.”

“What are you say-?”

“I’m saying I have to cancel the broom contract and everything else, Ron. At least just for now until the review has gone through. I’ve already sent a statement saying as much to the Prophet.”

“Hermione, you’ve got to be joking; we’ve put so much money into developing those brooms!”

“I know you did!” exclaimed Hermione, feeling increasingly fraught, “But Malfoy said -”

“Malfoy?” asked Ron, his tone changing suddenly to take on a dangerous lowness, “ _Lucius_ Malfoy? Oh, come on Hermione. I know Harry said to hear him out but use a bit of common sense here; he’d do anything to cause problems for my family, he always has. _Why_ are you listening to him?”

“Because he’s right, Ron! Can’t you see how this looks just a little bit off? We’re married and I’m using my position of power to send money your way.”

“Married? You could fool me sometimes, Hermione. You’re never bloody here anymore.”

Hermione could feel the argument veering in a dangerous direction, completely away from the initial point and into their more deep-seated issues but she was too exhausted from the day to pull Ron back on track. 

“Ron -”

“No, Hermione. What were you going to do if I was already asleep tonight when you came home tonight? ‘Cause there was a pretty good chance of it. Just sneak off to work in the morning and leave it to George to read the Prophet tomorrow and break the news to me that the Minister—sorry, my _wife_ —is cancelling one of our most important contracts?”

“Ron you’re being dramatic of _course_ I -”

“I don’t think I _am_ being dramatic, Hermione. You left this house first thing this morning, I haven’t heard from you all day and then I find out you’ve been holed up in your office all evening with _Malfoy_ of all people discussing an issue that directly involves me and you didn’t even _think_ to send me one owl! It hurts Hermione!”

 _Oh_. Hermione felt like she had been punched in the gut. She hadn’t wanted to send him an owl to warn him, assuming he would either offer her his usual platitudes or that he would be combative and obstructive. Which, a small voice in her head pointed out to her, he was being right now. 

“I did what I had to do, Ron. And I had to act quickly to make sure a statement would be in the morning Prophet. It’s damage control, I didn’t have time to think about -”

“About me?”

Hermione snapped her mouth closed, torn between guilt and fury at Ron. She understood why he was upset, yes, but he wasn’t thinking about her perspective at all. This was her entire reputation and it was just one contract for him. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes did just fine on public trading alone—the shop’s survival did not depend on its relationship with the Ministry of Magic. 

“That’s not what I was going to say and you know it, Ron.”

Without another word, Ron turned the television off and rolled onto his side and closed his eyes tight, shutting Hermione out. _That’ll be the end of that argument then_ , Hermione thought with a tired sigh. Stepping through the room as lightly as possible, she removed her pyjamas from under her pillow and changed into them, looking at Ron’s back all the while. Slipping beneath the covers, she kept to her side as much as possible and waved her hand to turn out the lights. Neither of them said goodnight and Hermione lay awake for a long time afterwards, staring at the ceiling. Based on the lack of snoring in the room, she was certain that Ron was doing something similar. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a heart-to-heart with Harry and Lucius gets down to business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for your kinds words and kudos(es?). It's really nice to know that people are enjoying this story; you're all lovely.

“He’ll calm down, Hermione, he always does.”

Hermione looked forlornly at Harry from across the table of the Muggle coffee shop they had managed to escape to during their lunch hour. It had been several days since the announcement had been published in the Prophet and everyone seemed satisfied with their Minister for Magic’s actions and the integrity she had shown with the exception of her husband. Ron had been giving Hermione the cold shoulder since their pre-bed argument and she was beginning to genuinely worry about it, to the point that she had finally consulted Harry.

She and Ron were regular users of the silent treatment, they had been since school, but it had never gone this long and Hermione so dreaded the atmosphere in the house that she was staying even later at the office, which only compounded the problem. It was a vicious cycle and she knew it would have to break eventually. 

“I don’t know, Harry. This isn’t the only problem we’ve had recently and I’m worried it’ll be the leaf that breaks the Bowtruckle’s back.”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he adjusted his glasses up his nose so that he could look at Hermione's face more closely, “Neither of you have mentioned anything to me about any problems, Hermione. Has it really been that bad?”

“Not  _ bad _ exactly,” said Hermione with a sigh, “Just...difficult. Ron wants kids right now and I’m just not ready, you know the kind of thing. It’s just not the right time.”

Harry nodded as though he knew only too well, “It’s a conversation Ginny and I have been having for years, too. It’s not been easy, her being a Quidditch player and all that and it’s taken some real understanding on my part, if I’m honest. But the important thing is to keep having the conversation and communicate. Now we’re finally at the same point and we’re both feeling pretty excited about it.”

Hermione looked down into her coffee, “It’s not easy to want to have the conversation when more often than not I’m left feeling like I’m the only obstacle to his happiness, Harry.”

She felt Harry’s hand reach across the table to clasp her own. He squeezed, prompting Hermione to look him in the face with a sad smile. 

“You  _ are _ his happiness, Hermione. Don’t think like that. Yeah, it’s a difficult patch but you’ll both get through it. And Ron will stop being an idiot over this broom order thing, I know he will; he’s just stubborn and he always has been. I can’t really believe I’m saying this but Malfoy’s advice was sound and timely and you were right to take it. Eventually, Ron will see that too, even if he never admits it out loud.”

Hermione could feel her eyes welling up; it felt good to be told by someone she respected that she was doing the right things. 

“Oh, you’re a good friend Harry Potter. I’ve got that ball that the International Confederation of Wizards is holding in Paris coming up and I’m really hoping we’ll have made things up just a little bit before I have to leave the country for a few days. I hate the idea that the argument might fester until then.”

“Hermione,” Harry said with a laugh, “That’s next  _ month _ ! I’m sure by then you’ll both have forgotten about all of this by then. Is Gwedonline joining you at the ball? I don’t think I’d fancy being at one of those things alone.”

“I’ll be attending with our Confederation delegate already based in Paris but I’m sure I’ll be able to have others join me in positions of my own invention," Hermione wiggled her eyebrows at him, "Is there any chance I could interest the famous Harry Potter in tagging along as an envoy? It’d be so much more fun with a friend.”

“Oh Hermione,” Harry ruffled his hair, looking apologetic and embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I really wish that I could but, well, y’know I said Ginny and I are finally at the same point in those ‘discussions’? It’s just, well, we’ve been trying for a little bit now and I don’t think she’d even like me to be gone for a couple of nights at this point.”

Hermione felt her cheeks flush and she held her cup tighter in an attempt to ground the sharp feeling of mortification and dread that coursed through her. “Harry, that’s wonderful! I’m so sorry, of course you can’t come. Please don’t apologise. I’m - I’m so happy for you and Ginny.”

Giving Harry a wan smile, Hermione took another sip of her coffee. If Ginny and Harry got pregnant, Ron was sure to become even more restless; she could only hope that they got over their current argument before a new pregnancy started off another. 

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat in a corridor outside of a door bearing a gold plaque which read “Eamon Stommart, Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” He had been sitting in the same seat for quite a while, one leg crossed over the other, and he was growing impatient. He had intimated to Stommart’s secretary that he had some important information to divulge and after the wiry young man had been in touch with his boss, Malfoy had been told to “please take a seat” and wait. 

It had been 40 minutes and he had waited quite enough time; more than he had ever waited before, he was sure. Getting to his feet, Lucius approached the secretary’s desk and glared down his nose at the young man until the weight of the Malfoy stare became too much and he was forced to look up, blinking as though he was staring into the sun. 

“Mr Malfoy, can I help you?”

“Am I to be kept waiting much longer?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Malfoy, Deputy Stommart is a very busy man and he wasn’t able to give me an indication of when he’d be free to see you.”

“Hm, Deputy Stommart is a very busy man, is he? And what do you think  _ I am _ , young man?”

The secretary gaped up at Malfoy, a deer in headlights. 

“Do you think I am an  _ idle  _ man? Because I can tell you that would be a very foolish mistake to make.” Malfoy was leaning the top of his body forward with every word, his cold glare getting closer to the secretary’s stricken face. “In fact, my time is incredibly  _ precious _ and I cannot abide by those who wilfully attempt to. Waste. It.”

The secretary looked as though he was about to topple backwards out of his chair when the door to Stommart’s office opened revealing the man himself. “Mr Malfoy? If you’re done frightening my secretary to death, I’ll see you now.”

Lucius slowly straightened up with a tight smile on his face. Not sparing a glance for the secretary, he swept into Stommart’s office, leaving the Deputy Head shooting an apologetic glance at his young employee before closing the door. 

“I apologise for your wait, Mr Malfoy, I’m having an exceptionally busy day today.”

“So it would seem.”

Malfoy looked Stommart up and down as the man rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Stommart was younger than Malfoy expected him to be. Then again, Granger was young when she held the same post so perhaps it was just that life experience was no longer as crucial in securing senior Ministry posts as it once had been. Stommart was tall and thin with a shock of red hair, which Malfoy noted with relief was much darker than the traditional Weasley red. His robes were on the shabby side, clearly having been worn for several long days in a row; they would perhaps, to the untrained eye, have been passable but to Malfoy they were telling. This was a man at the end of his tether.

“Anyway,” continued Stommart, shifting under Malfoy’s piercing stare, “how can I help you Mr Malfoy? My secretary indicated that you had some information to share.”

“I do indeed. Some very interesting information that I have stumbled across recently. I think  _ you _ will be particularly fascinated by it.”

“Is that so?” Stommart’s tone became a good degree more affable and he gestured to Malfoy to take a seat before his desk. Both men sat across from one another and Stommart leaned forward, leaning his chin on his hands, “Well I’m all ears, especially for the man who's been given the unusual honour of spending time with our Minister for Magic. This wouldn’t have anything to do with  _ her _ would it?”

Malfoy smiled indulgently. The man was astoundingly unsubtle - it was amazing he’d lasted as long. 

“Oh, in a roundabout way I suppose it does involve her. But the primary subject of the information I have is  _ you _ Mr Stommart.”

Stommart raised an eyebrow but Malfoy noted with satisfaction that his face had paled slightly. “I can’t imagine I’m of interest to anyone, when I’m hardly even interested by myself, Mr Malfoy.” Stommart’s laugh was polite but hollow. 

“I wouldn’t be so hard on myself if I were you,” continued Malfoy, keeping his tone light, “You are, after all, a man of prodigious talents. It’s not many people that can get a job like yours without slogging for years in the Ministry. Yet you walked in and charmed Mr Perkins immediately. He took the wrath of his entire department just to get you as his second-in-command. That's impressive. Was he swayed by your illustrious past at the Daily Prophet? Or should I say your present? The timeline is awfully confusing to me.”

It hadn’t taken Malfoy very long to find out the information on Stommart; for all his star had fallen he still had a couple of acquaintances at the Prophet who were willing to boast about their most underhand exploits when plied with expensive whiskeys and rich food. There was something about Malfoy that invited the confidences of the sneaky; it was almost like they wanted to impress him. Hughbert Snicket, the assistant editor on the Prophet, had been practically bursting to tell him that they had gotten a plant into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and that he was getting them access to all kinds of information.

“Heard you’ve been cosying up to the Minister, too, Malfoy,” Hughbert had said, the whiskey making his face ruddy and his eyes bright, “What plans have you got in that head? I’d pay a pretty knut for anything you had on her. She pretends she’s squeaky clean but I doubt it; our issues always sell in jig time when she’s on the cover. People are desperate to know more.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Hughbert,” Malfoy had replied softly, topping up the man’s glass, “You know I’m not motivated by money and there’s very little else _you_ can offer me.” Hughbert’s face had flushed deeply at that but Malfoy had not backtracked; Snicket was a useful man to know but Malfoy had no interest in sparing his feelings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Malfoy.” said Stommart quietly, “I haven’t been employed by the Daily Prophet now or ever. I spent several years in foreign ministries before I took this job so I’d call it a natural transition for a man who wanted to return home to England.”

“Ah yes, you’d have wanted to return home for your father, I imagine? I’ve heard he’s very sick—too sick for St. Mungo's. The care must be costly. Enough that most people on the paltry salaries the Ministry pays would be pushed to working two jobs.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave Mr -”

“I disagree, Mr Stommart. I actually rather think it’s time for you to tell me the truth. Are you, or are you not, in this role to dig up stories for the Prophet and have those stories, or have they not, included the recent reports on our Auror crisis and the Minister for Magic’s relationship with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?”

“This is ludicrous - “

“Because if that  _ were _ the case, I must say you would have my sympathy. That’s rather a lot of work for a man who is under a great deal of emotional stress. Between both of these jobs I don’t suppose you have time to see your poor father at all.”

All of the colour had drained from Stommart’s face by this point and he was gripping the edge of his desk, his knuckles sharp enough to make his skin strain over them. 

“It inspires my generosity, actually,” Malfoy continued as though he were commenting on the weather, “I think if you  _ did _ admit the truth to me, I’d be inclined to offer you some financial support. Certainly enough to cover your father’s long-term care in an excellent facility. That would leave you free to drop one, perhaps even both, of your thankless jobs. Spend some quality time.”

When he had done a touch more digging and found out about Stommart’s true situation, Lucius truly felt like he had been given a gift. Some liked to use the stick, others the carrot but whenever possible Lucius Malfoy preferred utilising both at the same time; the carrot always looked far more appealing when the threat of the stick hung overhead. Some called it bribery and blackmail but Lucius preferred to call it incentivising. If that failed there was always the Imperius curse, his personal favourite of the Unforgivables. But he had made Granger a promise this time so he was determined to make use of what he had.

Some of the more crude Death Eaters, his delightful sister-in-law being one of them, had, in his eyes, relied too heavily on fear and violence to get what they were looking for. They didn't see as he did that while self-preservation was indeed a weakness of many, there were other weaknesses that were far easier to exploit. Love, for example. It had, in the end, been a weakness of both himself and Narcissa so he would have been a fool to ignore its power. Love for his father had gotten Stommart into his unpleasant situation and, if he was clever, it would get him out of it. 

The silence in the office was heavy and Malfoy decided to give one more push. 

“Of course, you could always refuse my kind offer. In which case I might just let your little secret  _ slip out _ in the course of a conversation with one or two people on my way out of the department. Gossip gets around the Ministry so quickly, you know.”

“Are you threatening me, Malfoy?” Stommart asked eventually, his voice quiet, practically a whisper.

“Only if I have to, Eamon. I assure you it would be much simpler for both of us if you took me up on my generous offer. They don’t come along often.”

Stommart pressed his palms into his eyes for a long time before pulling them back and blinking at Malfoy. Malfoy mused that the poor man was probably hoping this was a hallucination; he had, after all, been living his double life quite well up until this point. It was always jarring when one’s life started to crumble before one’s very eyes, he knew that well.

“Alright, let’s say I take you seriously for a moment -”

“I would very much advise that.”

“What  _ exactly _ do you want to happen here?”

“My dear Mr Stommart, I want what  _ you _ want. I want you to be able to care for your father without having to work in two difficult, lonely jobs. Even for a man with your work ethic, this is not sustainable.”

“But what do you actually  _ want _ , Malfoy, step by step?”

Malfoy leaned forward and spread his hands on Stommart’s desk, as though he was laying a hand of cards down. 

“I want you to leave your jobs, to stop reporting on goings on at the Ministry. And after you have done that I want to pay you a significant sum of money that will allow you to care for your father and live independently until you find another path of work that is more satisfying. What I want is very simple. I’m actually far more interested in what  _ you _ want at this point because I’m not sure I can offer much better than that.”

Stommart gave a disbelieving little laugh and Malfoy felt the man’s breath ghost over his hands. He could tell he had him.

The rest of the pieces fell into place satisfying quickly after that; Stommart would leave his posts after which Malfoy would begin his payments. Both would keep quiet about what they knew and life would be easier for everyone. 

“Can I ask you why you’re doing this, Mr Malfoy?” 

“I just hate to see suffering.”

Stommart smiled thinly at the obvious lie but didn’t push it any further. As far as he was concerned, he had gotten what he wanted and he didn’t want to risk it now. 

“May I ask  _ you _ something, Stommart?” 

“You may.”

“Was Mr Perkins aware of your situation in its entirety when he hired you?”

This time it was Stommart’s turn to deflect. “I’m afraid I cannot comment on what Mr Perkins was aware of. He is a man who keeps his own counsel. My editor arranged my resume and my interview with Perkins, I just did as I was told.”

Malfoy nodded, it was largely what he had expected Stommart’s response to be.  _ That will require further investigation _ , Malfoy thought. There was no need for Granger to know, though, not until he knew something solid.

“Then I have no more to say to you, Mr Stommart. I will leave you to your day and wish you the best.”

Both of them stood and as Malfoy turned to the door, Stommart spoke. “Thank you, Mr Malfoy. Er, I think, anyway.” Malfoy continued to walk and without looking back replied, “I look forward to hearing of your resignation in the coming days. Do  _ not _ disappoint me or I will be forced to disappoint you in kind.”

Lucius Malfoy felt a great deal of satisfaction as he left the Ministry. He had done well by Granger more than once and he thought he was due a little public recognition. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Lucius have a necessary discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. So, I had a total nightmare with this chapter. I wrote it a while ago and since then I've been going back to it and editing it and trying to get it right and I'm still not entirely happy. BUT it has to go out eventually. Part of the difficulty was the POV—I usually have a dominant POV that's either Lucius or Hermione but in this chapter they're fighting for dominance—and part of it was trying to strike the balance in conversation. I hope it hits the mark—there are some fun moments to come ^_^ Thanks for reading.

When Lucius Malfoy flooed into the Minister for Magic’s office later in the evening to leave a note on Hermione’s desk with details on his meeting with Stommart, he found her asleep at her desk, her briefcase lying open beside her with her robes draped over her chair. Her head was resting on her forearms, her curls spilling over them like a warm caramel waterfall. 

Fishing his pocket watch out from within his robes, Malfoy double-checked the time and raised an eyebrow. He sauntered over to her desk and stood for a moment wondering how he ought to wake her. His first instinct was to reach a hand out and shake or prod her but as he extended his arm he stopped it in mid-air.

He recalled the last evening he had spent with her in the office, when she had been taking bloody forever to write a simple statement and he had been forced to read over her shoulder. They hadn’t touched but when he had reached her he had become aware, far too late, of how close he would have to get to read her minuscule writing. She had seemed absurdly small between his arms which was odd to him given her personality created the illusion that she had the stature of a bear rearing up onto its hind legs. She hadn’t smelled the way he thought she would, either—her perfume was floral and soft—which had made him linger a touch longer than he intended. It was, he had later realised with a wince of distaste, the closest he had ever deliberately gotten to a Mudblood without any kind of ulterior motive. 

Making up his mind, Lucius rapped his cane hard against the surface of her desk. Hermione jolted awake at the loud noise and sat up straight. With blinking eyes and a furrowed brow, it took a moment for her to register where she was and who was in front of her. Malfoy took in her tousled hair, heavy eyelids and her rosy cheeks, flushed from sleep, feeling a curious tug low in his abdomen. It was oddly charming to see her in so vulnerable a state, all of her sharp edges folded away. Fudge had never looked like this when he had been caught sleeping in this office; there had been a great deal more drool and bluster.

“Mr - Mr Malfoy,” his name tumbled around in her mouth along with a yawn and he pressed his lips together in disapproval. “What...what are you doing here? What time is it?”

“Suffice it to say that it is late, Ms Granger. Do you not have a home?”

Hermione squinted at him grumpily as she rubbed one of her eyes, “Of course I do, I just fell asleep while I was working.” Hermione elected not to inform him that she was also putting off going home to Ron again; he would only take pleasure in it and she wasn’t really in the mood to have an argument with  _ him _ too. 

“Why are  _ you _ here anyway?” Hermione could feel her alertness returning, bringing with it some peevishness that he was disturbing her technically outside of working hours. She had already been working late when she’d started reading the files Gwendoline had sent over to her so she wondered blearily how many more hours might have passed—the office had been so pleasantly warm and the profiles Gwendoline had given her on the other witches and wizards attending the International Confederation ball had been so mind-numbingly detailed. 

“I came to leave you this,” Malfoy lifted his right hand to reveal a piece of folded parchment clenched between his fore and middle fingers, “Details of my dealings with our friend Mr Stommart. I did not anticipate that you would still be here.”

“Well, I  _ am _ still here, so rather than adding more parchment to my pile, which you can see is rather large,” Hermione gestured to the large number of folders that were piled precariously by her elbow, “Why not just tell me what happened while I pack up?”

Now that she knew he had been attempting to be unobtrusive she felt slightly guilty for being annoyed with him, even if his attempt hadn’t worked. He was standing in front of her desk in his usual splendid regalia, looking down his nose at her and Hermione suddenly worried that she looked incredibly crumpled from her nap. Tugging self-consciously at the slightly-too-short sleeves of her blouse that she had unbuttoned earlier in the evening when she was too warm and fighting sleep, she avoided his gaze for a moment. 

With a nod, Malfoy surprised her by shrugging his robes off and draping them over what she now considered to be his chair before he took a seat in front of her. He was wearing a slightly different version of the waistcoat she had seen last time, the deep black of its velvet brocade standing out starkly against the crisp white of his dress shirt. 

“I might as well. It’ll save me replying to what would no doubt be an entire roll of parchment full of questions from you in the morning. If you don’t mind I will keep some of the finer details from the meeting to myself; I think with some things it would benefit you to have some plausible deniability.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm and Malfoy held up a pre-emptive hand. 

“I have done harm to no one, Ms Granger, as I promised. However, there are some aspects of my dealings with Mr Stommart that I would prefer to keep between myself and him. There is no need for your involvement for multiple reasons.”

Hermione chewed her lower lip, looking at Malfoy thoughtfully for a moment before she gave him a small nod. She knew that if Malfoy had done anything untoward it would have already made its way to her over the course of the day, particularly if he’d done it in the Ministry building itself. Given Perkins had not come to her to ask why her advisor had strung his deputy up by any of his appendages, she figured she could relax. 

“Suffice it to say that Mr Stommart was indeed the source of many of your press-related problems and that from tomorrow morning that will no longer be the case.” 

“That’s it?” Hermione asked sceptically, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “You sorted it just like that?”

“I wouldn’t say it was ‘just like that’,” Malfoy said with some irritation, “It took no small amount of effort behind the scenes on my part. But Mr Stommart is, I think, happy with the outcome of the situation and I myself am satisfied.”

“Well,” Hermione raised her eyebrows and unfolded her arms with a shrug, “Then, I appreciate this, Malfoy. It’s nice to have one thing less to worry about, I suppose.”

“I am sure you will eventually land on a suitable means of thanking me.”

Hermione paused as she moved to organise her folders, shooting Malfoy a warning look to which he simply replied with a very small smirk. 

“Are these the source of your stupor?” he asked after a few seconds, nodding his head at the folders she was moving in the direction of her briefcase which seemed to have been magically expanded to have the capacity of a small library. 

“Oh, yes, courtesy of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Gwendoline thought it best that I read up on some of my fellow magical leaders before I meet them in person at the ball in Paris next month. I am in very great danger of knowing more about the Italian Minister for Magic than my own grandparents at this point.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Hermione steeled herself to hear some slight from Malfoy about her grandparents but he said nothing. Instead, he looked interested. Each time he skimmed over an opportunity to take a dig at her background Hermione could not help but feel encouraged.

“The International Confederation is throwing a ball? They’ve not done one of those for a while. The one I attended was the last as far as I’m aware.”

“You’ve attended one?” Hermione asked, unable to keep some eagerness out of her voice. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from the event and while she was happy to take Gwendoline’s folders on her fellow attendees she had been hesitant to ask more about the event itself at the risk of looking like a curious schoolgirl rather than the unflappable Minister for Magic. She hoped Malfoy could be drawn into giving her more details.

“Naturally. I accompanied Fudge in his second or third year in office, when I was more heavily involved in the goings on of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. That ball was the first in  _ many _ years and the last in many more. I can assure you that was not the fault of Fudge” Malfoy added swiftly, when Hermione looked questioning, “I had him on a tight leash for the whole thing.”

Hermione allowed a small exhale of laughter at the image of Malfoy leading Fudge around a party like a pet. It probably wasn’t too far off a far darker truth, though, and she was starting to wonder if there was a department that Lucius Malfoy had not had his hand in at some point in his life.

“No,” Malfoy continued, “They’re a rare occurrence—very much a peacetime activity and even then they’re infrequent; quite costly I think. I imagine this is the first time that the Confederation has felt the situation across the international wizarding community is stable enough to justify such frivolity. Generally it only calls for gatherings in times of emergency or those horrifically dull annual conferences. The balls tend to be far more lighthearted affairs.”

It made sense to Hermione—between the two wizarding wars there had been only a relatively small window for holding lavish international parties. The prospect of having the opportunity to attend one for herself was as thrilling as it was daunting. 

“I would like to attend with you.” 

Hermione wasn’t sure she had heard Malfoy properly, having been lost in her own thoughts about the ball. “I’m sorry?”

“I would like to attend the ball with you, Ms Granger. That can be your way of thanking me for my intervention with Stommart. I think I rather went above and beyond the role of advisor on that one.”

“I appreciate the offer of your company, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione replied, attempting to exercise some tact, “But I really don’t think your presence will be necessary. I will already be in the company of our delegate.”

Hermione was sure his actions in her interest had emboldened him to ask for the invitation but she was far from inclined to give him what he wanted. If he attended with her it would be a very public acknowledgement of his involvement in the office of the Minister for Magic, something she had thus far avoided. Yes, he had helped her over these past months but the help he had offered also suited his own aims of ingratiation. There was no loyalty to  _ her _ in his actions at all and she still didn’t trust him. 

“I hardly think some young flunkey who has barely attended an organised conference never mind a freewheeling, unpredictable event like this will be a suitable companion for you, Ms Granger.  _ I _ have some experience with these things. And I am quite fluent in French. Do you speak French?”

Hermione pursed her lips at his self-aggrandising; it reminded her strongly of Draco when they were at school. “Oui,” she replied stiffly. It wasn’t a lie; she did speak a good amount of conversational French as her parents had insisted on it since they so often went to France on holiday.

“Allow me to rephrase that. Do you speak enough French to hold an extended conversation on magical international relations?”

“Not yet,” Hermione bit out, “But I won’t necessarily need  _ you _ for that. I am competent you know.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Malfoy responded smoothly, “I don’t know why you take it so personally when I point out gaps in your abilities, Ms Granger. A good leader ought to be able to delegate.”

“I think you know perfectly well why I take it personally, Mr Malfoy.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and Hermione held his gaze for a moment longer before she leaned forward to return to organising her folders. As she extended her arms forward to grab a piece of parchment that had made a break for the edge of the desk, the unbuttoned sleeve of her blouse inched up her forearm, revealing part of the scar Bellatrix had left on her arm. Her eyes flicked down to look at it and his gaze swiftly followed, the raised white of the letters almost shimmering in the light from her fireplace. 

Fighting the instinct to drop the parchment and tug her sleeve back down, Hermione instead looked directly at Malfoy. He was still looking at her arm, a slight crease appearing between his brows, though Hermione couldn’t read what exactly he was feeling. When he realised that she was looking at him, Malfoy quickly stopped staring and cleared his throat.

“Does my scar make you uncomfortable, Mr Malfoy?”

“No. It is impolite to stare.”

Malfoy’s gaze met her own and his face was impassive, like one of the many stone busts that lined the Ministry corridors. Undoubtedly some of them were his ancestors. They had avoided difficult conversations thus far and Hermione had been satisfied by that but this time she could feel frustration bubbling in her gut; it didn’t sit well with her that he got to sit in her office week after week as though he had nothing in his past to be ashamed of, while she kept parts of hers literally and metaphorically buttoned up for the comfort of him and others. 

“Do you remember that night?” she asked, her voice so quiet that she was surprised that Malfoy actually heard her. 

“Vividly, actually.” Hermione’s heart skipped a beat when he spoke, before his next words made it sink, “We were punished severely by the Dark Lord after your escape.”

With a dismissive scoff, Hermione replied, “Yes, it stands to reason that you’d remember that more than the fact that a teenage girl was tortured in your home while you did nothing.”

“You were not the only person to be tortured in my home, Ms Granger,” he said smoothly, his grey eyes flashing with irritation, “Though I will not deny that I always found Bellatrix’s methods somewhat crude, particularly where you were concerned. It is not the approach I would have taken.”

Pushing aside the suddenly intruding thoughts of what horrors she might have had to suffer at the hands of the man before her if things had gone slightly differently, Hermione continued to push her point.

“Well, did it ever occur to you to stop her? And _not_ just so you could do the deed yourself.”

“Are you really asking me that?”

He was no longer speaking with a drawl, Hermione noticed; his tone had become sharper, his posture more stiff. She could tell he was annoyed with her and she thought it was so bloody _typical_ of him that he thought he had the right to be. Jaw set, she nodded.

“I had absolutely no reason to stop her, Ms Granger.”

“It would have been the right thing to do, for one thing.”

Malfoy sighed and tipped his head back as though he was uttering a silent prayer to the heavens, his long angelically blonde hair falling back over his shoulders. _The very_ _ picture of irony _ , Hermione thought.

“It amazes me, Ms Granger, that after everything you have seen and done you could still labour under the misapprehension that people are only motivated by right and wrong. I did not abandon you to your fate that night because I have a single-minded aversion to doing what you deem the ‘ _ right thing’ _ . I did it because I wanted to find out what you knew. I wanted to give something of value to the Dark Lord so that myself and my family would have a chance of surviving another day. Even if it was only a day. I did not consider  _ you _ at all because, at that moment, you didn’t matter to me. Just as I did not matter to you.” 

His cold eyes bore into hers for a moment before he added, “Had I perished with my wife and son that night at the hands of the Dark Lord I doubt you and your friends would have mourned. But I would have done anything to protect them and I don’t regret it, nor do I appreciate your insinuation that it was the wrong thing to do. It was the  _ only _ thing to do as far as I am concerned.”

Hermione, stunned that Malfoy would even attempt to argue that what he and his family had done to her had been necessary for their survival, stared at him for a long time. She could have listed a dozen other paths he could have taken. She also considered cursing him, but she wasn’t sure it would help. Or that one curse would be enough to satisfy her.

He was leaning forward, one of his hands gripping the edge of her desk while his breath came fast and heavy through his nose. His usually pale face had developed pink tinges on his cheekbones. The pristine edges of his poise were frayed and Hermione couldn’t deny that she was taking a small amount of pleasure in that, at least. It wasn’t the regret or remorse she had hoped for but it was something; if he was going to see her pain she was glad chip away at him to see some of his.

There was one area where she couldn’t argue with him: she  _ wouldn’t _ have mourned his death. Not at all. She had thought him as inhuman as he thought her sub-human. Even a couple of months ago she could have read his name in the obituary pages of the Prophet and felt nothing but maybe a fleeting pity for Draco. 

But would she have stood by and allowed the man in front of her to be tortured if their circumstances had been reversed? She liked to think not. She, Harry and Ron had risked life and limb multiple times for the good of others. Even people like Malfoy, who apparently did not know _what_ was good for them. But then, with a guilty tugging in her stomach, Hermione recalled her treatment of Umbridge, McLaggen, Marietta Edgecombe and Rita Skeeter among others. She had never been afraid to do a bit of harm when it suited her. It’s quite possible she would have found it within herself to leave Malfoy to suffer if it meant getting Harry and Ron out of there alive. But that was a pointless hypothetical—he had been the one with the power to make a choice that night, not her.

He didn’t seem to be willing to show her any repentance or regret for what had happened to her. But he had given her some kind of new insight; he had made it clear that he had been driven by a desire to protect his family, partially at least; she didn’t doubt that her blood status had made it all the easier for him to stand back but the idea that it hadn’t been his sole motivation made her want to push him more. 

“Do you have any regrets at all when it comes to your involvement with Voldemort?”

His eye twitched reflexively when she said Voldemort’s name but he didn’t tell her not to. His tone was sardonic when he replied, “Well, since that period was hardly a shining example of success in my life I can’t exactly look back on it with satisfaction, can I?”

“But do you  _ regret _ it?”

Malfoy looked at her sternly. Of course he had regrets, but he resented that she seemed to think they were any of her business. What did she want from him?  _ Honesty _ , a small voice reminded him. What was her obsession with that?

“I fail to see how that’s any of your concern, Ms Granger.”

“It’s actually of great concern to me, Mr Malfoy. And it would benefit you to answer me.” Her heart was pounding in her chest; this was the kind of conversation she had dreaded but she was finding that she didn’t feel as vulnerable as she had thought she would. Instead she was getting an opportunity to see if  _ he _ had any vulnerabilities and it was oddly difficult to stop her offensive.

His eyes flicked over her face and she saw his Adam’s apple bob slightly in his throat, “I don’t  _ not _ have regrets, I suppose.”

“I’m the politician here, Mr Malfoy, I think I ought to be giving answers like that.”

Malfoy gave a single bark of amusement, though it sounded hollow to both of their ears. “I do not involve myself in matters intending to come out on the losing side. You have perhaps noticed that. It became apparent to me as things developed that my family and I were going to lose after the war, regardless of which side won overall. It was fortunate for me that Narcissa had the clarity of mind to see which loss would be less devastating for us. I regret, as the head of my family, letting it get as bad for us as it did.”

Hermione remembered the Malfoy family she had seen after Harry had defeated Voldemort, huddled together looking very much worse for wear. “What do you mean you were going to lose either way?”

“The Dark Lord was a difficult master to please, Granger. There was no room for error and I made a few. When you and your friends escaped, my last real opportunity to garner favour went with you. With the Dark Lord, you see, wealth carried little importance and lineage only went so far.”

At Hermione’s look of skepticism, he continued, “Oh, yes. To the Dark Lord, your value was your willingness to serve and the less you had outside of the cause the more  _ willing _ you were. Other interests were... a liability. Other loyalties unthinkable.”

Hermione remained quiet and Malfoy’s next words were more quiet, spoken without looking at her, “The way he rewarded that snivelling Pettigrew—to reward a lack of  _ pride _ like that, it was almost sickening to watch. And Bellatrix’s single-minded fanaticism...exhausting. I don’t wonder if I was always doomed to fall from his good graces if that was what he truly wanted from us. I made...promises to Narcissa before I made promises to him. Those promises weren't always compatible.”

“So you’re not sorry that he’s gone, then? You don’t regret that he lost?”

Lucius’ eyes flashed back to hers. She asked such simple, bald questions, seemingly without regard for the complexity of their answers. After the first war, he had regretted Voldemort’s loss. His service hadn’t started out to his detriment, of course it hadn’t. His father had told him in no uncertain terms that the family’s involvement with Voldemort would only benefit them, that they would share in Voldemort’s glory. And things had certainly gone that way until his downfall in Godric’s Hollow.

But Voldemort had never really been interested in benefiting anyone but himself and with a wizard like that, Lucius knew, it was difficult to rise in his esteem without lowering oneself in other ways. But he  _ had _ been willing to lower himself. Until he had reached the point where he could go no lower, when his own son and his family name, the very things for which he had been making sacrifices, were at risk. He knew he had hated Voldemort in the end for the way he had treated his family. He had hated himself, too, for allowing it. His life had reached its highest peak and its deepest trough in the service of the Dark Lord. And now...was he happy? He certainly wasn’t as unhappy. And he was nowhere near as afraid. He found it hard to know what he was.

“I certainly do not miss him. I will say that.” 

Hermione fell back in her chair and considered the impossible man before her. He hadn’t increased her trust in him one bit and she certainly didn’t like him any more than she had. Though given everything that had happened, it was incredible to her they were able to sit across from one another engaged in something that was walking the fine line between conversation and argument. She also realised that it was now largely up to her which way it fell. 

She probably could keep Malfoy on the outside for a little longer, trailing him and his hopes for advancement along in her wake like a dog begging for a treat. But she knew that Malfoy was the kind of dog that would eventually bite. Hermione felt like she was at a crossroads: she could push him away entirely or allow him to step closer. Dangling him on a string was no longer an option. Not after this conversation. 

He had been useful to her and so far he hadn’t put a foot wrong, professionally. Her project for improving this for Muggleborns on which she had worked for so long would probably benefit from his advice as an old-fashioned Pureblood and former school governor, Hermione mused. She just needed to convince him to co-operate, and she was sure that meant giving him something that he wanted. That would mean putting aside some legitimate grievances that she had held onto for a long time, but there was a very real part of her that just wanted progress. Or something like it. He had made his choices, maybe she could use her position to give him the opportunity to make new ones. Or force him into making them.

“I am willing to give you the kind of recognition you want for your work with me, Mr Malfoy.”

He sat up straighter and Hermione could see his jaw clench in an effort to keep his expression inscrutable.

“But I need something from you first.”

Suddenly, he was utterly still and Hermione wondered if her audacity had sent him into a state of shock. 

“Out of civility, I won’t tell you all of the conclusions I have drawn about you from our conversation this evening, but I will say that I think I can say I understand that you like to do right by you and yours more than  _ anything _ else. I am under no illusions that it’s what motivated you to come to me in the first place. What I want to be sure of, before we go any further forward, is that you will no longer go out of your way to do wrong by me in order to do right by yourself. I want our goals and motivations to be aligned and I am willing to draw a line under the period when they were not to make that happen.”

“Ms Granger -”

“I am well aware that you’ve helped me these past few months, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione cut in before he could protest, “It’s one of the reasons I’m willing to make this offer in the first place. But you also helped yourself. If you are to have any further, more visible, involvement in  _ my government _ I want your word, whatever that’s worth these days, that you are going to be working for  _ me _ as much as, if not more than, for yourself.”

“Are you trying to tell me you want my loyalty, Ms Granger?”

“If you have any.”

Malfoy reflected on the fact that he had simply come to her office to leave a letter and wished he’d just left the blasted witch asleep. It was possible he’d been too hasty in attempting to secure a place at the Ball, had pushed her too quickly, but he was tired of working for her and getting very little in return. Now she wanted even more from him.

_ Greedy little witch _ .

It was apparent to him that he had underestimated her; he had assumed that the fact that she was easy to read meant that she would be useless at reading others but he had to admit that she seemed to have the measure of him at that moment. Then again, he thought, she was also overestimating him; he didn’t really have any qualms about giving her his word and going back on it when it suited him. Giving her this didn’t have to change anything—she was  _ hardly _ the Dark Lord.

“Very well, Ms Granger. You have my word that I am entirely in your service.”

“Would you be willing to sign your name to a statement of that effect if it meant that you would be my guest to the Ball?”

“What, no Unbreakable Vow?” he asked with a roll of his eyes, quietly hoping that his sarcasm would not give her any sincere ideas. If she asked for an Unbreakable Vow he would almost certainly have to back out.

“No,” replied Hermione lightly, “your name on a simple piece of parchment alongside your promise that you won’t participate in any underhanded deals that go directly against my interests will suffice. It’s just for my own personal records.”

_ What an odd little administrator she is _ , thought Malfoy,  _ I wonder how many contracts the Weasley boy has had to sign over the course of their marriage _ .  _ Perfunctory sex every second Friday and a chore list ratified by the Wizengamot, no doubt _ . “Fine, where am I to sign?”

With a flourish, Hermione pulled a blank piece of parchment from a pile and set it in front of her. Rather than waste time and run the risk of him changing his mind, she bypassed her quill and tapped a single finger against the page and held it there for a second before tapping it again and dragging her hand down, words curling into existence in its wake. Malfoy, chin balanced on the pad of his thumb, rubbed his forefinger across his lips as he observed her casual proficiency with wordless, wandless spellwork.

“Sign anywhere you please, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione said with a smile, pushing the parchment towards him along with a quill. 

Lucius, still amused that she was so artless as to be satisfied by something as unbinding as a paltry sheet of parchment, signed his full name. He slid the parchment back over the desk towards her and as Hermione reached out to take it, her fingers slid over Malfoy’s own. A barely perceptible shiver ran up his arm but he didn’t draw back; he simply looked at her with what she could only describe as determined eyes. 

Clearing her throat, Hermione said, “Congratulations, Mr Malfoy. You are now an envoy at the next gathering of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

Hermione gave the very smug Lucius Malfoy a winning smile before looking down at the beautiful swoops and curves of his signature. It wasn’t an Unbreakable Vow and it wouldn’t prevent him from acting against her but she would certainly know about it if he did. As she had hoped, acting quickly with wandless magic had stopped him even considering that she might be jinxing the parchment.

Casting her eyes over Malfoy’s handsome features, Hermione tried to picture how they would look with a Marietta Edgecombe-inspired boil pattern over them. She was being idealistic in placing her trust in a man like him, she knew, but at the very least she now had insurance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Hermione are working in harmony. So of course the other parts of their lives have to go to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your lovely comments and interests in this story! I swear, the weeks are just running into one another I can't believe it's Friday again! I hope you enjoy this new instalment.

“If the opportunity to speak with the French minister arises, Ms Granger, I would certainly take it—perhaps even make it happen; the French are neighbours and Fabron is a particularly...tenacious ally.”

“I see,” said Hermione, taking the profile Lucius held out to her while she continued to read the one in her lap, “And are there any insalubrious details about his life that you might want to give me?” 

Hermione finally looked up at Malfoy with a small smile. They were sitting across from one another on the guest seats by her desk, the profiles from Gwendoline piled between them. It had taken a few late afternoons—the hours that Hermione wasn’t busy with more urgent matters—but they were reaching the last of them. Malfoy had offered her his help in going through them so that she wouldn’t be “sleeping at her desk in that unseemly way” anymore and though she had been reticent at first, she had started to rather enjoy herself. 

Familiar with many of the people in the files, Malfoy had been giving her his own behind-the-scenes information, most of it on the more salacious side. Hermione was sure that some of the information had probably been stored away in his mind for blackmailing purposes but since she wasn’t going to allow him to use it for that, she decided to enjoy it. It turned out that Lucius Malfoy was a bit of a bitch, and an amusing one at that. 

“Hmm, Fabron’s weaknesses tend towards making bets more than anything else. He would readily make a wager that he would never make another wager again and not see that he’s destined to lose.”

“Tell me, do you know anything nice about him?”

Lucius looked up at Hermione from the folder he had been flicking through, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Why ever would you want to know that?”

“If I’m to see him as an ally, it might be nice to know some of the more pleasant aspects of his personality.”

Hermione’s tone was innocent but Malfoy’s eyes still narrowed with suspicion, “He has a granddaughter that he’s especially fond of. Devoted to, even. I suppose that’s _‘nice’_.”

Hermione nodded to agree that it was indeed and returned to her reading, feeling Malfoy’s gaze still on the top of her head. Despite their fraught conversation a couple of weeks previously, things were going relatively smoothly with him; Hermione felt as though something had shifted in their interactions with one another but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Probably, she supposed, because it was several things. 

In the spirit of their new agreement, she was trying to start afresh, to treat him like a new employee who she was willing to trust until given evidence that she shouldn’t. He had come to her office via the main entrance several times since that evening and, as promised, she hadn’t protested. There was a part of her that felt as though she had underestimated him slightly or, maybe more accurately, oversimplified him. There was no denying that he had been, and probably still was, as cruel and callous as she’d always thought, but it was clear to her that he actually loved his family. She was clinging to the idea that he had, at one point, been motivated by something positive rather than negative. His loyalty was to his family and if his involvement with her was going to help them, then she was sure she could count on him.

There had been a noticeable thawing of Malfoy’s iciness, though she strongly suspected that it was because he had finally gotten something he wanted, rather than because he was at pains to show her any kind of loyalty. But Hermione appreciated it nonetheless. It was rather pleasant to have conversations with him that didn’t have the feeling of being on a knife-edge. 

“If he tries to spring any obscure wizarding French on you, the lessons I have been giving you should be enough to keep up,” Malfoy continued after a pause, “It would be just like him to find that fun.”

His offer to teach her some of the French wizarding vocabulary while they worked had come out of nowhere and, while she had been surprised, Hermione had eagerly accepted. Annoyingly, he spoke French as beautifully as he had suggested he did. More than once, to her embarrassment, Hermione had found her eyes drifting closed as she listened to him so that she could enjoy the smooth timbre of his voice in isolation. If he had noticed, he hadn’t said anything—no doubt it just looked like she was concentrating particularly hard. There were, she told herself, so few pleasures to be had during the work day that she had to take them where she could find them. After all, when she wasn’t looking at him and he wasn’t speaking English, it was easy to forget that she was listening to Lucius Malfoy of all people.

“Speaking of that, I’ve been thinking,” Hermione said eagerly, closing her own folder with a smack and crossing one leg over the other, “Do you know of any spells in French or French adaptions of spells that they might not cover at Hogwarts? I’m sure that there must be some subtleties and differences caused by language development and I’d love to know something about them.”

Malfoy looked back up at her slowly, his eyes flicking over her face. Hermione could feel a blush rising up her neck under his gaze. “You really are a _curious_ little thing aren’t you?”

Hermione knew that her blush must be fully visible by now. His tone hadn’t been angry, more amused. Perhaps even playful. “I’m a grown witch, Mr Malfoy.”

“I beg your pardon,” he nodded, “A curious little _witch_ , then.”

Hermione fought back a huff, knowing it would undermine her point, and straightened her posture, “There’s nothing wrong with liking to learn new things.”

“No, I don’t suppose there is,” he said thoughtfully, a small smirk playing about his lips, “But I’m afraid my answer must wait.”

He got quickly to his feet, making Hermione jump as he was suddenly towering over her, “I have a regular dinner with Draco and Astoria that I really ought not to miss.”

Hermione got to her own feet carefully, keeping her folders pressed to her chest so that she wouldn’t be in his space, and moved around to the other side of her desk. “Of course, I hadn’t realised the time. I’ll finish the rest of these this evening and I think that’s us.”

Malfoy nodded, picking up his cane and his cloak, “I’ll return tomorrow to go over some final French vocabulary with you,” He got to the Floo Powder pot before he turned again, “Do try to go home this evening, Ms Granger, you are more than ready for this event. And it is a Friday.”

He didn’t wait for her to nod before vanishing in a swirl of green flame. Hermione tidied away the last of the folders into a neat pile and looked at the clock in the corner. Not long after six. She could go home, really, though there was no great rush since Ron was visiting his parents when he finished at the shop. But it might be nice to have the house to herself for a while.

Harry had been right and she and Ron’s cold treatment of one another had thawed out over the course of a pleasant weekend spent together. She had swallowed her pride and broken the ice first to ask him about what he was reading in _Seeker Weekly_ on the Friday evening, he had asked her politely how her preparation for Paris was going on the Saturday morning and then everything had fallen back into place and they had been able to laugh together over a bottle of wine and some takeaway pizza on the Saturday night.

As the International Confederation of Wizards ball approached, Hermione was able to feel more calm about it, knowing that there was harmony in that area of her life. She had avoided telling Ron that Malfoy was going to be one of her guests at the event—it didn’t feel particularly important and, given the argument they were just managing to get over, she didn’t fancy bringing Malfoy’s name up in Ron’s presence again if she didn’t absolutely have to. 

* * *

Hermione was in their bedroom, organising some of her clothes, when Ron returned home. She heard the door downstairs slam and walked out of their room to peek over the railing, where she could see Ron kicking his shoes off with a touch more force than she thought necessary. 

“Hello! Everything okay, Ron?”

He grumbled something that resembled “fine” and removed his coat before going into the living room. _Oh bloody hell_ , Hermione thought, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hoped Molly hadn’t been on at him and George for some new product in the shop. Every now and again she took issue with something they were developing and it caused unnecessary tension for weeks at a time. 

Padding downstairs, Hermione entered the living room to find Ron sprawled on the sofa, clearly well-fed but not entirely happy. She reached out and touched one of his propped-up feet, giving him a small smile. 

“How was it? I can’t imagine the food wasn’t up to scratch.”

Ron turned his head to look at her and offered a strained smile but there was a sadness behind it. Hermione always knew when Ron was sad, it was such an obvious thing and she didn’t know why he ever bothered to hide it. 

“I hope no one was too annoyed that I wasn’t able to make it. I take it that it was a full house?”

“No, of course not. Everyone understood. Ginny and Harry weren’t there either, so you weren’t the only one missing.”

Hermione thought about what Harry had told her about him and Ginny trying for a baby and barely managed to keep a straight face. _Bloody hell, Harry_. 

“Mum said Ginny told her last week that she’s going to retire from the Harpies later this year. Apparently she and Harry are planning to start a family so she wants to wrap things up.”

It would have been absolutely absurd to do it but Hermione was seized by a sudden desire to run from the room; this was not the conversation she needed to be having. While she was very pleased to hear that Ginny and Molly had an open and close relationship, Hermione couldn’t help but wish at that very moment that she had married into a family that kept each other at arm’s length and saw one another once a year only out of a feeling of obligation. Why Molly felt it was necessary to tell Ron that his sister was trying for a baby with his best friend she didn’t know. _To hint to him that it’s time to get a move on_? Suggested a sly voice in her head. 

“Oh, are they? That’s nice.” Pressing down the cringe aroused by how facile her words sounded even to her own ears, Hermione tried to keep her tone casual. Her expression, however, was tight and she hoped that Ron would be able to tell that she didn’t want to discuss the matter any further. 

“Yeah, Mum says that Ginny said she loves playing for the Harpies but that she knows it’s the right time to start thinking about family.”

 _Merlin’s balls, Ginny, give me a chance_. 

“Well, she’s had an excellent career. I’m glad Ginny feels that she’s gone as far as she wants to.”

“Hermione.” Ron’s voice was pleading and Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed. He really wanted to do this. Right now. Her eyes opened and he was sitting up, his hands on his knees as though he was thinking about pushing himself to his feet to approach her. She really hoped he wouldn’t. 

When she didn’t say anything for a while, Ron started again. “Hermione, maybe - maybe we could just _start_ trying. We don’t even know that you’ll get pregnant right away, it could take a long time.”

“No, Ron.” Her tone was firm, perhaps even a little too harsh but she was so tired of having this discussion and feeling like the bad guy. 

Hearing her tone, Ron switched his own from pleading to accusatory at breakneck speed, taking the next step in a verbal dance with which Hermione was now so familiar she was almost bored. 

“You’ve gotten everything you wanted out of our life together, Hermione, why can’t I have this?”

“To be perfectly frank, Ron, all I want at this point is a bit of bloody peace!”

She knew what she’d said was mean, even without Ron’s stony silence in response, but it was the truth. She was tired of platitudes, tired of stalling; if she really hadn’t made herself clear before, now was the time. 

“Look, Ron, I _understand_ that you want this. I really do. But _I_ am the one who will have to carry this child and I’m not ready to do that. Now just isn’t the right time.”

“That’s the problem, Hermione,” Ron sank back into the sofa and pressed his forefinger and thumb hard against his forehead, “It’s _never_ been the right time. Will it ever be? I’m tired of feeling unreasonable for wanting a family with the woman I love, especially when I always thought you wanted it too.”

It was hard to hold back a sigh. She hadn’t ever been particularly vocal about her desire for a family, but neither, she knew, had she been vehemently opposed to it. She had simply let Ron get carried away with his excitement and then repeatedly said “not yet”. It wasn’t the ideal situation but he never picked the ideal time, either. 

“Ron, I’m leaving for Paris in just over a week and I’d really rather than we saved this discussion for when I come back.”

“Yeah, you’re right I guess it’s just not the right time, is it?” His sarcasm was acidic and it took a great deal of self-control for Hermione to swallow her retort and not prolong the argument.

Instead, she chose to leave the living room and return to their bedroom to continue packing. When Hermione finally got into bed close to midnight, Ron was still downstairs and although she lay awake well into the early hours of the morning waiting for him to come up, he didn’t. 

* * *

Evening was descending over the manor and Lucius Malfoy was settling into his study with a firewhiskey and a book after dinner with Draco and Astoria. It had been a quiet meal, somewhat tense. The source of the tension, as far as he was able to tell, was solely between his son and daughter-in-law as they’d barely spoken directly to one another for the entire meal. He didn’t know if they’d had an argument or if one of them was having an off day and, frankly, he didn’t really care; as long as they didn’t drag him into it, they could argue as much as they liked. 

At the moment, his attention wasn’t on home at all, anyway; he was more focused on the way things were going at the Ministry. He was pleased that Granger had finally bowed to his wishes for a more public profile, even if it had meant signing her silly little contract. 

Since that evening, he had noticed a distinct shift in her attitude towards him in their meetings. He could only describe it as _warmth_ . Before he would have certainly called Granger fiery. Spiky, even. But not warm. It was curious, really, and initially it had completely taken him aback. It showed itself in several small ways: she was smiling more at him, her posture had relaxed, she even _laughed_ without sarcasm. Lucius Malfoy didn’t consider himself to be a particularly warm person, not in the way that she clearly naturally was, but he could feel himself instinctively mirroring her. It was mildly alarming.

He had even found himself offering to expand her French vocabulary in her less busy moments. Her basic French was passable, meaning he only had to help her with some of the more wizard-centric vocabulary. It pleased him that she was picking it up tolerably quickly. Her mind was sharp and he liked the way, like any good witch or wizard should, she took pains over the details of pronunciation and intonation, sometimes to the point of closing her eyes in order to focus solely on the sound of her own voice. 

He thought back to their meeting earlier that afternoon and the way she had been so eager in asking him about French spells. She was so _hungry_ for knowledge, so keen to master everything she put her hand to. He knew he couldn’t really criticise her for it. In fact, he liked it and there was a part of him that wanted to have the answers to all of her questions.

He had to admit that she wasn’t the straightforward chit he had thought she was when they’d first met. He had always known on some level, given her reputation and actions during the war, that she was competent and capable but now he was seeing it in person. 

Even with her little trips and stumbles early on, she had proven herself to be assiduous in her work and willing to do the necessary things to keep her position. That was something he particularly appreciated since he, too, needed her to keep it. 

She had a sharpness that he was past the point of pretending he did not enjoy. _And_ ...not for the first time in the last couple of weeks he mulled over her use of wandless, non-verbal magic. The way she had used it had been so...casual, so unthinking. It hadn’t been a calculated attempt to impress him; nothing with her _ever_ seemed to be like that, which was odd to him in and of itself. 

Such a curious mix of shrewdness and sincerity. Yes, she was _unexpected_. Exceptional, even. For a Mudblood.

He was sure that she would do well out of the ball - she was too prepared not to - but he hoped that _he_ would do better. It was certain that his attendance would be widely reported in the press and he fully expected that it would attract the attention of some of the Ministry’s more inconstant department heads at the very least. Before long, he was sure, he would be courted by witches and wizards looking for favours, looking for him to whisper things in the Minister’s ear. And he would be able to ask for favours of his own, to advise her to pay attention to those that he felt were deserving. And if she didn’t listen, well, then he would, by that point, have the contacts to simply conspire to get someone else in her office chair. Someone more pliable.

“I see from the Daily Prophet gossip columns that your working relationship with Granger has become more positive.” Lucius was torn from his reverie and looked up to see his son’s blonde head peeking around the door to his study. He couldn’t help the smirk that stole over his face. 

“We have reached...an understanding.”

“I’ll be honest: I am astounded. Granger agreeing to work with a Malfoy on anything is truly a sign of changing times.”

Lucius frowned slightly at Draco’s words. It had nothing to do with anything _changing_ ; it was down to what his own clever manoeuvres. With a glance behind him into the hallway outside of the study, Draco slipped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. 

“If you’re not busy, would we be able to discuss something, father?”

Setting his book down on his desk, Lucius pulled himself up into a straighter position that indicated he was ready to listen. “Certainly, Draco. I take it this was something that was too sensitive to discuss over dinner? I noticed a certain....atmosphere.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Draco said, lifting one of his shoulders in a half-shrug as he moved forward to slide into the seat in front of Lucius. The expression on Draco’s face was hard to read and Lucius studied him carefully, partly out of concern and partly in an attempt to glean how serious the conversation they were about to have was. 

When Draco didn’t start speaking straight away, Lucius moved to slide out of his seat, saying, “I can pour you a drink, if you like.”

“No, no, father, that won’t be necessary,” Lucius sank back down and wrestled with his instinct to tell Draco to hurry it up. That wasn’t their relationship any more, it hadn’t been for a long time; the war had seen to that.

“Astoria has been talking about...trying.” Draco struggled to get the words out. When he saw his father’s chin tilt inquisitively to the side, he continued, the rest of the words coming out in a rush, “For a baby. Trying for a baby.” 

Lucius’ eyebrows rose in understanding and he leaned his head back against his chair. _I see_. “You don’t seem happy about that.

“Of course I’m not happy about that,” Draco shook his head with an incredulous expression, “I thought I’d finally convinced her that there was no need for all of that; that she was enough for me, just her.”

“If Astoria wants to have a child, Draco, I don’t think it’s in your best interests to attempt to convince her otherwise.”

“My best interests revolve entirely around keeping her safe and well.”

“But Draco, if she _wants_ —”

“The only reason she _wants_ to have a child is because of _you_ and all of _this_ ,” Draco gestured wildly at the family portraits lining the walls of the study, some of which had emerged from their slumber to observe the discussion between father and son with distaste. “She’s gotten it into her head that she has to provide an heir, that it’ll somehow make me happier because I’m a Malfoy. She keeps telling me she wants to leave me someone else to love when she’s gone but she wouldn’t have to leave me _anyone_ if she’d just _listen_.” 

Lucius took a swig from his firewhiskey and exhaled slowly through his nose, wishing that Draco had not come to him with this. The matter of the necessity of a Malfoy heir was another area where he and his son had come to disagree. Astoria was afflicted by the Greengrass family blood curse which, while not entirely understood by either family, undeniably made her extremely weak and fragile—quite unsuited to bearing children. Draco had made it clear to his own parents, and hers, that he would rather wrap her in cushioning charms and end the Malfoy line than put her at any risk. Lucius felt quite differently and Narcissa had shared his feelings. After Narcissa’s passing Lucius had, for the sake of a peaceful household, stopped broaching the subject but his view on the matter hadn’t changed in the least.

“Draco, I stopped pressing Astoria for a grandchild many months ago. I can assure you I have not started again.”

“But she gets it from every portrait in this house, in every room she enters. All they talk about is ‘family duty’ and ‘blighting the Malfoy legacy’. You haven’t stopped them and I know you could. You just don’t want to.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco, if they’re bothering her that much just silence the bloody things. I don’t see why _I_ should have to do it.”

“Because if she saw _you_ take some kind of action she might understand that I’m not just giving her platitudes, that she really _isn’t_ expected to give birth to a Malfoy heir at the cost of her own health.”

“But _it is_ expected of her, Draco.”

“Father, she’s weak. Carrying a child will weaken her further and I dread to think what effect childbirth would have.”

“You knew about the Greengrass blood curse when you married her,” snapped Lucius, his patience worn thin, “Your mother and I told you but you wouldn’t listen. And now you are facing the consequences of that decision. The Malfoy family must have an heir, this manor must go to a Malfoy after you; your wife has finally accepted that, I am struggling to understand why you cannot.”

Draco sighed and raised his hands to his head as though he might tear at his hair, “I really thought spending some time with Granger might make you see sense, even just a bit. But it hasn’t. At all.”

“Excuse me?” Lucius’ tone was low and dangerous but Draco didn’t pay it any heed to its warning. 

“You’re just - all you think about is the family name and reputation, continuing the ‘Pureblood’ tradition even though it’s clearly absolute bullshit. I _love_ Astoria, father, I don’t want to give up a single second with her just for the sake of having the Malfoy line continue.”

“Draco you know perfectly well that I care about you and I will not have you suggest -”

“I _know_ you do, father, but I just - I hoped you might come to realise that things don’t have to be mired in hundreds of years of tradition to be good. To be worth... _being_!” 

Lucius’ eyes darted over Draco’s face, the sorrowful downward slope of his brows, his compressed lips, the watering edges of his eyes. He knew it wasn’t the time to be angry with Draco, or at least, he knew he couldn’t let that couldn’t be his overriding emotion. He was, however, finding it difficult.

“I have agreed with you, Draco, that I will no longer tell you what to think. But I will not accept insolence. Upholding certain standards in our way of life means a great deal to me, as it meant a great deal to your mother.”

“Then why are you continuing to work with Granger of all people? These things don’t mean anything to her so what’s the _point_?”

“I have told you, working with her will open doors to others -”

“And what will you do with these ‘others’? Try to take things back to the way there were before? Stir up more intolerance? I don’t remember any of that making us happy. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I will help mould a world that upholds our _traditions_ , Draco.” Lucius’ voice was growing more forceful and he knew he was close to shouting. It had been so long that he and his son had clashed in this way; he had thought they’d come to some kind of acceptance of one another. 

“What makes you think that’s the kind of world I’d want to bring a child into?” Draco’s voice was cold and Lucius leaned back from him, squeezing his glass of firewhiskey so tightly he was worried it would crack. 

“What are you saying?”

“This may come as a shock to you, father, but I’m not trying to say any more than _exactly what I said_ . I do not want to bring a child into a world that might, in any way, resemble the one in which I grew up. So even if you _have_ managed to pressure Astoria, your schemes are only damaging your case with me.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Draco spoke again, his voice more gentle this time, “I love you, father. But I love Astoria too and I will not allow you to put pressure on her, whether it’s explicit or implicit, to bear a Malfoy heir. I want to make sure that you understand that.”

“You are understood perfectly well, Draco.” Lucius’ voice was clipped and a slight pinkness had made its way onto his usually pale cheekbones, “But if Astoria is anything like your mother she’ll get her way sooner rather than later.”

“I think we both know that I’m more like my mother than Astoria ever will be, father. So _I_ will get _my_ way.”

Getting to his feet, Draco gave Lucius a small smile that was something between apologetic and pitying, neither of which the older man appreciated. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening in peace, father. I’m sure you need the hours of respite before another day filled with Granger.”

Lucius watched as his son left the room and roughly pushed his book away from himself, disgruntled and too irritated to bother with reading. For the first time in months, Granger was the least of his worries.

“Ungrateful br-”

Before his father’s portrait could finish his sentence, Lucius had already picked up his wand and, with a violent slashing motion, silenced him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Paris! Part 1 of 3

Hermione cursed whichever witch or wizard had come up with the ludicrous idea of a 'mingling brunch' for the first event of the International Confederation of Wizards gathering. She was standing in a large ballroom, surrounded by some of the most important wizards and witches in the world but there was an extremely insistent part of her brain focused on the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the previous day. It didn't help that all of the trays bearing bite-size brunch dishes seemed to have been charmed to give her a very wide berth. 

The entire day before leaving for Paris she had been a frenzy of nerves, both because of the prospect of attending such an important event and because Ron still wasn’t engaging her in conversation, seemingly intent on ignoring her until she would talk about what he wanted. She and Malfoy had arrived at the hotel the night before, just too late for dinner, so Hermione had decided to wait rather than order any kind of room service. An error, she had come to realise.

Even through her hunger, Hermione could still appreciate it was the most incredible hotel she’d ever been in, with one of the most ludicrous magical entrances she’d encountered yet. After meeting in her office the night before, she and Malfoy had been dropped by a Portkey in an alley close to the Place de la Concorde. They had found the Ministry’s delegate waiting for them, a pocket watch in hand and an anxious expression on her face. It was clear that their safe arrival was her greatest concern and when Hermione had introduced herself and Malfoy, the delegate had smiled and her shoulders had visibly dropped. She had introduced herself as Cassandra Jones with a very firm handshake and warm tone, though Hermione noticed that she eyed Malfoy somewhat warily when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

Cassandra had led them through the thinning crowds of tourists to the Fountain of River Commerce and Navigation on the square and Hermione had watched in wonder as the woman whispered in the ear of one of the merperson statues that lined its edge. With a barely perceptible nod, the statue had shifted the golden fish in its arms so that the stream of water spouting from its mouth came down directly on top of Hermione, Cassandra and Malfoy. Hermione had squeezed her eyes shut, preparing to feel the freezing cold water pouring over her but nothing happened. Instead, opening her eyes, she found the water was flowing around them with a strange gold aura and the water in the fountain itself had changed in a similar way. 

With an understanding smile at Hermione’s bewilderment, Cassandra had beckoned them both forward and gestured to the floor of the fountain where a set of steps had appeared, descending into darkness. Malfoy had stepped back and extended his arm to invite both Hermione and Cassandra to clamber over the edge to go down first and Hermione had given him a sheepish nod in recognition of his manners as she passed him. It never failed to give her pause that a man with such impeccable manners could be so ill-behaved in so many other ways.

They had entered into a cavernous circular foyer with a domed roof which reminded Hermione of the Pantheon in Rome, though instead of the sky through the oculus at its peak, she could see shifting, glimmering water. While Cassandra made arrangements at the hotel reception desks, Hermione and Malfoy's small suitcases floating behind her, Hermione had turned in a slow circle, looking at the space around her. Corridors shot off in every direction, like spokes on a wheel, and Hermione realised that the hotel must extend through miles of the catacombs underneath Paris, its golden limestone and marble walls glistening as though water was reflecting on them, even though everything was bone dry. 

Feeling Malfoy’s eyes on her she had turned to look at him, a self-conscious blush rising up her cheeks. To her surprise she found that while his gaze was amused, it wasn’t disdainful.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

She had nodded, allowing him a small smile. Beautiful was the right word for it. She imagined Malfoy had stayed here multiple times but she liked that even he could still see the grandeur in it. 

After a restless night on Hermione's part, she and Malfoy had met Cassandra the following morning in the foyer and walked a good fifteen minutes down one of the long corridors to reach the ballroom for the welcome brunch. By the time Hermione had walked through the immense golden double doors, she realised with a jolt just how hungry she was. Unfortunately, Cassandra had led she and Malfoy around more than a dozen people in quick succession to make introductions and after more than an hour of polite conversation, Hermione had found herself slightly dizzy, her stomach protesting loudly. 

She was finally edging closer to a tray loaded with muffins of all flavours, stomach grumbling with anticipation, when a hand lightly touched her back. Biting back a groan of disappointment, Hermione turned to find the French Minister for Magic before her. He was an older man with short legs, a wide chest and a handsome, warm face which had been spread in a smile every time Hermione had looked at it that day. He had, as Ron would have said, the build of a beater.

“Minister Weasley, finally I have a chance to talk to you myself!” he said in barely accented English. Hermione fixed a pleased smile onto her face and reached out to shake Fabron’s hand, wondering if Malfoy had sent him over to speak to her. He had sidled off somewhere a few minutes before, conversing with an increasingly charmed Cassandra and a delegate from Italy.

“Monsieur Fabron! It’s a pleasure. I truly can’t praise you enough for providing the setting for this gathering. I don’t know why we would ever choose anywhere but Paris when this is available.”

“Oh, you’re too kind. But please, call me Patrice. My hope is that we will get to know one another very well over these coming years—after all that has happened I think the international wizarding community would benefit from some more cross-border cooperation, don’t you?”

Hermione beamed, pleased that he was of a similar mind, “I couldn’t agree more. And please, Patrice, call me Hermione.”

“Well, Hermione,” Fabron moved forward, his voice taking on a somewhat conspiratorial tone as one of his hands came to rest on the elbow of her robes, “In the spirit of international magical cooperation I think this event is probably the perfect time to bring up one of our most neglected joint traditions.”

Taking Hermione's confused frown as an invitation, Fabron continued, “The Triwizard Tournament of course!”

Hermione’s mouth opened in a small ‘o’ of realisation and she felt her stomach sink. The Triwizard Tournament was truly one of the things she had detested most at her time at Hogwarts. Utterly barbaric and dangerous. Though it was, she could admit, one of the few opportunities she’d had to mingle with wizards of other cultures and she couldn’t fault that aspect of it in the least. That was, perhaps, something she could lean into.

“Of course,” Fabron continued, “It was extremely tragic how our last tournament ended. We must still mourn the loss. Yet we have come such a long way since that time and I think it might be time to revive the venture, don’t you agree? To create an opportunity for some more positive associations. I was never able to convince your predecessor—such a serious man, Hermione—but I sense you will be more open to restoring some frivolity to the lives of our young witches and wizards; you are, after all, so young yourself!”

Hermione was trying to find a way to tactfully respond to Fabron when another voice with a strong Australian accent cut across their conversation.

“Patrice, Minister Weasley has barely had the chance to settle into her post, yet I get the distinct impression that you’re already attempting to drag her into international intrigue.”

A tall wizard with golden blonde hair and striking green eyes had appeared to Hermione's left, a good-humoured grin on his face. He was, Hermione thought, extremely handsome in a way that reminded her strongly of Gilderoy Lockhart. He was also, like her, a noticeably young face in a crowd that tended towards middle and old age.

“Ah, Mackie," Fabron cried, waving his hands dismissively, "You see intrigue wherever you go!”

_Mackie_ , Hermione thought, her mind scouring through the many names she had studied. _Andrew Mackie, the Australian Minister for Magic_ , she realised,  _ of course! _ Yes, he was barely older than herself but he’d already been in office an impressive four years and he was well-regarded in the international community. Malfoy had told her that he was also known to be "very fond” of witches but, knowing Malfoy hadn’t actually met him in person, she decided to reserve judgement for herself.

“We were discussing the Triwizard Tournament, Minister Mackie,” Hermione said, determined to make way for him in the conversation to ease the pressure on herself, “Have you ever heard of it?”

“The Triwizard Tournament? How could I not have heard of it? Old Patrice here has been like a Hippogriff with a ferret trying to get that thing started back up since I got into office. Every conference we’ve had he’s there, waxing lyrical about the importance of cooperation.”

Fabron was nodding along with Mackie’s words, a serious expression on his face. “I think what he really wants,” Mackie lowered his voice to a stage whisper and glanced obviously at Fabron, “is the chance to place new bets on the young witches and wizards of Europe now that we all know his Quidditch calls are so poor.”

On hearing this, Fabron stopped nodding abruptly and with a loud barking laugh pushed Mackie’s arm. Hermione smiled weakly, glad at least that Mackie had taken the conversation down a less serious path, even if she did feel slightly guilty knowing betting was a genuine weakness of Fabron’s. 

“Anyway, Minister,” Mackie continued, his attention focused on Hermione, “How has the British wizarding community been treating you these past few months? Well, I hope; I wouldn’t be pleased to finally have another person close to my age at these events only to have them taken away at the next election.”

“Call me Hermione, please, Minister Mackie. And all has been going well so far. I certainly can’t complain.”

_ I’ve only had to foil a couple of attempts to discredit me and sow dissent in my administration. It’s been a veritable breeze _ . 

“Then call me Andrew.” His smile widened and Hermione couldn't help but note the appearance of two perfect dimples in his cheeks, “I’m glad to hear that! And to think our Patrice would like to put that stability at risk by dropping the logistical nightmare of reviving a large international competition into your lap.”

“There’s nothing like a spot of healthy competition, Mackie.”

“Mm, don’t think you can get me on your side, old man. Not if _our_ school can’t get involved.”

“Well, then it wouldn’t be a _Tri_ wizard Tournament would it?”

“It wasn’t a _Tri_ wizard Tournament last time either, though, was it? Four students, I heard. Next time one of them could be Australian. I dare say it’d go better.”

“Perhaps,” Hermione suggested, wishing to push the conversation away from the last Triwizard Tournament as she felt an unpleasant tightening in her chest, “Perhaps a new tournament could be arranged, then? With a wider scope? It seems so silly that only three schools are involved when the wizarding community is so large, doesn’t it?”

“That’s quite an idea, Minister,” Hermione jumped at the sound of Malfoy’s voice by her right shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him approach but as she turned to look at him, he held a muffin out to her as though it was a bouquet of flowers, a knowing look in his eyes. She tried to take it casually, rather than snatch it like she wanted to. “A new tournament would allow for more schools, more cooperation...perhaps some new, even more strict rules?”

Hermione gave him an appraising look, “Indeed, Mr Malfoy.” There was a part of her, however small, that wanted to ask him if his unfortunate involvement in the final task of the last tournament had had any influence on his desire for these 'new, more strict rules'. But she had promised to draw a line and she was determined to keep that promise even in the face of tempting digs.

Seeing Mackie’s polite but puzzled smile, Hermione opened her mouth to introduce Malfoy to the group as her advisor but Fabron had already leapt forward to shake his hand. 

“Lucius Malfoy! I haven’t seen you since I was in the International Cooperation office. Still slogging away at the Ministry even though you don’t have to?”

“Indeed, Patrice. My Minister roped me into an advisory role,” Hermione raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, biting into her muffin with more force than necessary to stifle her desire to scoff at his lies, “And I’m afraid I couldn’t resist.”

“Mm, I bet you couldn’t,” Fabron had a gleam in his eye as he looked between Malfoy and Hermione before he turned to Mackie, “This is the Australian Minister for Magic, Andrew Mackie. Mackie, this is Lucius Malfoy; a man who has had a different title each time we’ve met. But a consistent charm, I assure you.”

Hermione used the introductions to shove the rest of the muffin into her mouth and had just surreptitiously wiped some crumbs from her lips when Fabron turned his attention back to her.

“A _new_ tournament then, hm?” Fabron said eventually, placing his hands on his hips and looking shrewdly between Hermione and Mackie, “Well, it could work. And it would be an excuse to move it somewhere else—I’m certain Durmstrang was supposed to be hosting next and it’s always so cold there. They never have enough blankets either. Very inhospitable.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Mackie said keenly, leaning to the side slightly to give Hermione a warm smile. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Mackie’s enthusiasm and glanced sideways down at Hermione who pretended not to notice his eyes. 

“Then I am more than happy to talk to our Departments of Games and Sports and International Magical Cooperation," Hermione replied, "We can perhaps float the idea to a few more leaders at the ball tonight, or even at the final breakfast tomorrow morning—I’m sure other Ministers will be interested in including their schools in some  _ friendly _ competition.” 

Fabron grinned at Hermione’s emphasis on the word friendly, clearly understanding exactly what kind of direction she was hoping to take the new tournament and delighting in the prospect of fighting her on it in the future.

* * *

“I commend you on your handling of Monsieur Fabron, Ms Granger,” Malfoy said after the brunch as he and Hermione walked shoulder-to-shoulder through the long corridors towards their rooms. “He’s always been a somewhat...bumptious man. You kept control of the idea without appearing obstructive. It was well done.”

“Thank you, I suppose,” Hermione replied with a glance up at him, “You’re not the only one who’s good at getting what they want.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Hermione was suddenly, unpleasantly, reminded of her argument with Ron. _ “You’ve gotten everything you wanted out of our life together, Hermione, why can’t I have this?” _

“Are you quite alright, Ms Granger? You’ve gone rather green.”

They had stopped outside of her room. Hermione shook her head, pushing Ron to the back of her mind as she looked up into Malfoy's face, unexpectedly finding a genuine crease of concern between his brows. 

“I’m fine, fine,” she waved his question away, “I think I’m just hungry and tired. It’s been a long morning. Speaking of which, thank you, by the way, for bringing me that muffin—I might have dropped without it.”

“I'd noticed the way you were stalking the trays from across the room, Ms Granger, it was bordering on animalistic. I would like to remind you, though, that I am your advisor, not your nanny, so please eat regular meals; it can be hard to hear one’s own mind over a growling stomach.”

Hermione’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, the sound magnified in the quiet corridor. Her hands immediately flew to her abdomen to cradle it and she looked up at Malfoy with an embarrassed but amused smile. One of his eyebrows had lifted in derision while the corner of his lips had twitched upwards in something that could have been amusement. Or irritation. It was hard to tell which with him. 

“I think that’s advice I am willing to take, Mr Malfoy. I’ll go into my room and order some lunch before the ball this evening,” Hermione half turned away, ready to open her door when she paused and looked back to Malfoy. “You’d be welcome to join me, if you like?”

Hermione wasn’t sure what had made her ask and from the way his eyebrows rose, Malfoy wasn’t entirely sure either but, strangely, she didn’t want to retract the invitation. Working together over the past few weeks had been easy and, dare she say it, almost pleasant. He was one of the few people here that she actually knew and it would be nice to have some familiar company before she had to go out later in the evening and turn her sociability dial back up to eleven. Besides, she reasoned to herself, it was her room; if he was rude she could throw him out. 

Malfoy hesitated for a moment before nodding his head once. “Very well, I suppose I ought to take my own advice sometimes.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione tells Malfoy about a project close to her heart and, well, let's just say he's not on board.

Lucius wasn’t sure what had made him agree to eat lunch with her, or what had made her ask in the first place. The whole thing didn’t sound altogether unpleasant, he supposed. He was keen to find out whether the morning’s proceedings had lived up to her idealistic expectations and he was so rarely interested in what someone else was thinking. Besides, he was hungry; he had given her _his_ muffin.

Following her into the room, he found it was very similar to the suite he had stayed in last time he, Narcissa and Draco had visited Paris together. The limestone and marble walls with their watery glimmer continued into the vast chamber, which was lit with countless candles. A canopy bed, heaped with comfortable cream sheets and pillows protruded from the centre of the back wall. It was luxurious and cosy at the same time and Narcissa had been in raptures on seeing it.

Draco had still been young when he'd been with them and as soon as they’d arrived in the room he had insisted on jumping on the huge bed, attempting to pull off impossible imaginary snitch-catches while in mid-air. Lucius had hauled him from the bed by the scruff of his neck after only five minutes and scolded him severely. Looking at the bed, he could easily recall his son’s watery, upset eyes that day and felt a queasy twist in his stomach when their still-unresolved argument came back into his mind. 

_“I do not want to bring a child into a world that might, in any way, resemble the one in which I grew up.”_

It was somewhat galling that his doe-eyed son had grown into a man capable of such cutting words. He had clearly raised him as he intended to, though, even if it had been, apparently, to the satisfaction of neither of them. 

Granger’s voice cut through his reverie, “Er, Mr Malfoy, have you ever had pizza?”

He turned to find her standing in the small sitting area across from the bed looking at a green, leather-bound room service menu. She unclipped her formal robes and slipped them from her shoulders, glancing up at him.

“Ms Granger, I am a Pureblood wizard, not an _alien_.”

“Well, _I_ don’t know where the lines are. You don’t wear jeans, apparently, so who knows what food you don’t eat.”

“Though we are in a food capital of the world, Ms Granger, I could be convinced to eat pizza if you insist on it.”

Hermione’s expression became defensive, “It just seemed like the least...finicky thing to eat.” 

Lucius pictured he and Granger standing awkwardly side by side while hotel elves bustled around them, laying a small table in the room with cutlery so that they could sit down across from one another and have a full French meal. He saw her point. It was strange enough to him that he was in her room, such fuss would only make it worse. 

“It will do.”

As she muttered the instructions for ordering the food to herself, Lucius undid his own robes and laid them on the end of the bed, leaving him in his usual ensemble of a shirt, waistcoat and suit trousers. Striding past her to the far side of the room, he approached a bureau positioned between two ornately carved freestanding wardrobes. Folding down its front he was pleased to see, like last time he had visited, that its magically expanded inside contained a limited, but excellently curated, bar. Pulling two crystal glasses as well as a bottle of firewhiskey towards himself, Lucius glanced into the mirror on the wall above the bureau and saw Granger looking at him curiously from across the room. 

“Drink?”

“Mr Malfoy, it’s barely three o’clock.”

Malfoy removed the cork from the firewhiskey with a pop. “While I’m sure you would make an excellent clock, Granger, I don't think I asked you for the time.” 

He heard her sigh, “Go on then.”

He poured them small, even measures and carried the glass over to her, meeting her in the centre of the room. As she took the glass, her fingers brushed gently over his. This time he didn’t even blink at the contact; her touches were light and soft as a feather.

They both stood awkwardly for a moment, facing one another and clutching their glasses, looking anywhere but directly at one another’s faces. They spent almost all of their time alone together but the setting of a hotel room felt far more intimate than her office ever had.

Lucius’ eyes were drawn to Granger’s free hand which was self-consciously smoothing down the front of her navy pencil skirt. He had noticed, though he wasn’t entirely sure when, that like him she tended to wear a variation on the same thing every day. Her clothes were obviously Muggle-made but he found he didn’t entirely detest them the way he did Draco’s Muggle ensembles. They weren’t _denim_ and they at least looked expensive. They sat...well on her, too. Granger was built differently to Narcissa, he noted. Where Narcissa had been tall and elegant with sharp lines and angles, Granger was more petite and inclined towards curves and soft edges. Just like Narcissa, though, she dressed in a way that flattered her.

Running his eyes up the length of her body at a leisurely pace, allowing his eyes to linger on the area where her waist narrowed, he finally arrived at her face and, unexpectedly, met her eyes. There was a slight pinkness on her cheeks as she cleared her throat.

“Well, I’ve ordered the food so it should be here momentarily. Do you want to…?” She gestured to the cream velvet settees in the seating area. They took one each, sitting opposite one another with a low marble coffee table between them. 

Granger took a sip from her drink and Lucius saw her tense shoulders immediately drop a fraction. He had been able to tell from the moment they’d met to travel to Paris that she was positively wound up with nerves, despite all the preparation they’d done. _She must have been a nightmare at school_ , he thought.

“So, is it everything you thought it’d be?” he asked, breaking the silence. During their preparatory work together she had told him several times about how impressive she expected the event to be. He had tried to manage her expectations but had found, to his bewilderment, that with every warning of dull conversation her excitement only grew. He had started to wonder whether it was a compliment or an insult that she appeared to be enjoying his company more than before.

“It’s...” she paused, taking another drink before giving an assured nod. “It is. It’s beautiful and the people are interesting and the conversations are invigorating. I think attending events like this must be one of the biggest upsides of the job.”

Lucius leaned back into the settee and crossed one ankle over the other. “Whether or not it’s an upside depends entirely on the Minister. I can promise you that Fudge was less enamoured with this kind of thing.”

“And what about you, do you like it?”

 _Always so curious_ . He took a slow sip before answering, “I do. I have often found that events like these, more informal gatherings, are where important things _really_ begin. This is the kind of place where seeds are planted. Take your conversation with Patrice and the young Australian Minister—a perfectly innocuous discussion that could be chalked up to introductory small talk, to sounding one another out. But that small discussion also has the potential to go somewhere if one of you decides to take initiative.”

“I think I might, you know.”

“Might what?”

“Take initiative,” Hermione looked thoughtful as she slipped her heels off and lifted her legs onto the settee to curl them under herself. Malfoy found his eyes following them as they went, “I wasn’t the biggest fan of the Triwizard Tournament when I was at Hogwarts. The tasks were so _dangerous_ and obviously I was terrified for Harry. But at the same time, I got to see a much larger part of the wizarding world; it really opened my eyes to the fact that there’s so much more than Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. It was a fantastic experience for a 14 year old and an unfortunately rare one.”

Lucius stared at her, suddenly aware again of the voice in his head that was keen to remind him of her blood status. It had been so quiet for a while that he hadn't even really noticed its absence. She was so curious and intelligent but she had reached her teenage years and not experienced the wider wizarding world through anything other than books. Yet she didn’t appear embarrassed to admit it; she just seemed grateful for having been given the chance to learn more. He wondered if everyone of her blood status was so comfortable in themselves.

“I think I’d like to put more of an emphasis on the social aspect in a new tournament. I understand that the different schools like to guard their secrets but a bit more openness wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I expect Patrice will fight you on that,” Malfoy said wryly, “I’ve never met a man so unhealthily fixated on ‘healthy competition.’”

“Well, Malfoy, you know him better than I do so it’s your job to help me fight back.”

“I suppose it is,” he mused, “Though I’m afraid I can’t help you when it comes to our Australian friend.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, surprised, “He seemed perfectly amiable.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow and locked Hermione’s eyes with his own, “Perfectly amiable, yes, I think you know _exactly_ what I mean, Ms Granger. I did tell you he has a fondness for pretty witches.”

He could tell Hermione was about to respond with a protest when there was a knock at the door. Placing her now empty glass down, she got to her feet and hurried to answer it while Lucius got up himself to refill their drinks, though he wasn’t sure he needed any more. “ _I did tell you he has a fondness for pretty witches.”_ _Merlin_. They both returned to the seating area at the same time, Lucius with firewhiskey and Hermione with a sliced pizza on a large stone plate. 

With the combination of the firewhiskey and heavy food, Lucius could feel himself relaxing into her company. He could not have predicted it from their first meeting but increasingly he was finding that she could be a surprisingly easy person to be around—she was comfortable with silence in a way that reminded him of Severus. It was a rare thing.

They were quiet for a while, both absorbed in their food. Then, as the slices of pizza steadily disappeared, they slid into more trivial topics, namely books. Her eyes lit up when recommending titles to him but they positively blazed if he said he’d already read them. She was almost aggressive when she demanded his opinions but he found he didn’t mind; she was unabashedly interested in everything magical in a way he had long since forgotten it was possible to be.

“I’ll bring you a selection of titles from the manor I think you might like,” he offered when she mentioned her continued interest in arithmancy, “I’m sure there are a few older works in there that you won’t find in Flourish and Blotts.”

“Oh, really? I’d love that, Mr Malfoy,” she said, looking rather taken aback, “I’ll take fantastic care of them, I can promise you.”

“I don’t doubt you will,” he said, amused by the way she had leaned forward as though keen to impress upon him just how sincere she was. They were only books; he had tens of thousands of them so it wasn't like he was being particularly generous.

“I take it you’ve stayed here before?” she asked, setting her now empty plate down on the table. 

“Only a handful of times, mostly on Ministry business. Once or twice with Draco and...and my wife.”

She watched him quietly for a moment before speaking again, “And how is Draco?”

Lucius had a suspicion that their improved relations had emboldened her to delve into more personal topics with him but he wasn’t feeling inclined to give her the chance to get under his skin again, particularly as his feelings around Draco were rather raw. Only moments before he had been thinking of her as good company and she was ruining it. 

“He’s well,” He knew his tone was curt and she leaned back slightly, “Married, living in the manor. Reading at a rate I think even you would admire.”

Lucius allowed silence to fall again and was glad when she didn’t push any further. He left it for three or four minutes before speaking again. 

“This new tournament, then, is it to be your grand project for your time as Minister for Magic? Or are you sitting on other plans?”

Instead of answering straight away, Hermione looked at him long and hard, gently nibbling at her lower lip. It seemed, he thought, that she _did_ have other plans.

“I am actually.” she said eventually, and Lucius felt his heart speed up ever so slightly. There was something invigorating about her increasing trust in him; for someone who had never needed to work a day in his life he took a remarkable enjoyment in earning things. 

“And are they as ambitious in scope and self-righteous in tone as I imagine?”

She laughed again and this time he smiled. There was something pleasing about her laughter; it was always genuine. 

“I suppose they are.”

“Well, are you going to elaborate?”

“You really want to know?”

She sounded doubtful and a touch apprehensive but, to him, it was natural that he would want to know what her plans were. Both because it was an opportunity to gain leverage and because, well, he still wasn’t entirely certain what it was that drove her. Sometimes he thought it was her ambition and other times he wasn’t sure she had any at all. 

“Isn’t it my job to listen to your plans? And, if you will permit me, to advise on them.”

“I don’t think you’ll wait for my permission somehow, Lucius.”

He wondered if she had even noticed his name tumble out of her mouth. Her expression certainly didn’t give any indication that she had and he thought it likely that it had simply slipped out on the current of the firewhiskey that was now coursing around her system. There was a part of him that wanted to snap at her, to tell her off for presuming to use his given name. But as he looked down at his slightly rumpled shirt and the firewhiskey cradled against his stomach, then at her bare legs curled underneath her in that informal, comfortable pose he thought he would probably be wasting his breath. They were almost certainly on first name terms whether he liked it or not.

“I suppose you are right, _Hermione_. Regardless…” He swept a hand forward in a gesture of invitation for her to speak. 

Removing her legs from their position underneath her, she straightened up and put her glass on the table, fixing him with an intent look. And then she told him. She told him that she wanted the Ministry work with Hogwarts to set up programme that would see Muggleborn witches and wizards introduced to the wizarding world before they reached Hogwarts age, that they would learn more about the world, its history and its culture across multiple summer programmes and be given an opportunity to mix with their future classmates. “No spells,” she said, “Just... _context_.”

She wanted, she explained, to help Muggleborns feel more prepared for the drastic way their lives were going to change and to place them on more equal footing with their Halfblood and Pureblood classmates. “Coming into the wizarding world on your own at the age of eleven is a very isolating experience, you see,” she explained, avoiding looking directly at him for a moment, “I think a bit of a run-up before the jump could do some good.”

Lucius kept his face entirely impassive throughout her speech. So it _was_ ambition that drove her, it was just that it was selfless ambition. It was exactly the kind of thing he had worried she might want to do. 

“What do you think? It’s far from its final form—I still have research and fine tuning to do before I can even _think_ about putting it forward publicly—but I think the overall aim is good.” At some point while she was talking, she had brought a hand up to her hair and was anxiously twisting one of her curls around a finger. 

Malfoy cleared his throat to keep his tone level, “I think...that you will face a great many obstacles in even getting such a plan considered, never mind actioned.”

“Why?” she asked, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows, “It could really help young Muggleborn witches and wizards. It doesn’t hinder Halfbloods or Purebloods, either. But it levels the playing field slightly for the first few years at Hogwarts.”

“What makes you think anyone wants the playing field, as you call it, to be _levelled_ , Ms Granger?”

Hermione’s frown deepened, her mouth opening to protest, and Malfoy sat forward to place his own glass on the table between them.

“Purebloods do not benefit from this in any discernible way, Granger, therefore they are not going to support it. Above all, arguments will be made that you are jeopardising the Statute of Secrecy with such a scheme, which you may well be. Children are notoriously indiscreet and Muggleborn children moving in and out of the wizarding world, returning to their Muggle schools after summers spent learning about magic, have the potential to expose us.”

“Children say outlandish things all the time and no one bats an eye, Mr Malfoy. Muggleborn children begin showing signs of magic from a young age anyway. At least with this scheme they’ll be able to _understand_ what’s happening to them.”

“Yes, but if multiple children all start saying the _same_ very specific outlandish things, I am sure that even the most dimwitted Muggles will notice something.”

“Mahoutokoro in Japan allow their pupils to start their education far earlier than eleven and _they_ haven’t exposed us to the Muggles. I want to find the Japanese Minister this evening to talk to them about it, in fact.”

He sighed, “Hermione, those young witches and wizards may not board at the school but they are _not_ merely summer visitors. It is not the same as your suggestion and you know it. Trust me when I say as a former governor that Hogwarts does not have the capacity to take on any more year groups than it already does. This scheme is too personal to you and that will blind you to its faults.”

He had used her name in the hope of getting through to her but he got the impression that it had only irritated her further. 

“If I am blind to its faults, Malfoy, then your prejudice makes you blind to its benefits! We don’t let Muggleborns into our world until the very last minute but then we criticise them for a lack of knowledge about its traditions or rules. Our own systems of induction help to feed the false narrative that they’re somehow inferior.”

“It is not a false narrative,” Lucius said, his own impatience growing, “Their inferiority is innate; a problem that cannot be neatly solved by anything but absolute exclusion.”

Hermione visibly bristled and colour flooded her cheeks. She knew his feelings when she agreed to work with him and he didn't feel bad for expressing them to her. Had she thought he'd _changed_ such a great deal? Certainly in his disillusionment with the Dark Lord and his methods he had become less...vehement. But the fact remained that in his eyes there _was_ a difference between Muggleborn and Pureblood wizards.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. A bunch of untrained, unchecked witches and wizards growing up in the Muggle world is more of a risk to the Statute of Secrecy than a simple bloody summer school. The magic doesn't just _disappear_ because you don't want to acknowledge it. You’d rather do nothing proactive at all, would you? We either leave it the way it is and have Muggleborns swim against the current or force them to bow out entirely?”

He considered her for a moment, observing the way her hands had balled into fists and her jaw had clenched. _So responsive_. He wondered if it was his imagination or if he could actually feel some of her magic spitting from her like she was a bubbling cauldron. There was a carefully controlled power in her and there was a part of him that was very keen to find out what happened when you pushed Hermione Granger too far.

“ _You_ did.”

“I did _what_?” she snapped, her eyes glistening and furious. 

“You swam against the current. I listened to my son complain about you enough times to know that you were a studious little witch with a voracious, _unbearable_ appetite for knowledge. And here you are: Minister for Magic. You could argue that the _truly_ _deserving_ still rise to the top. You are an extremely unusual example of your kind, Ms Granger, surely you must know that. Not everyone deserves what you want to give them.”

He hadn’t really intended to give her any kind of compliment but it became clear to him that she hadn’t heard anything positive in his words at all when her eyes flashed with anger. 

“Again, you’re _wrong_ . I am not an exception, I am the _rule_ . And you would know that if you deigned to pay attention to reality once in a while. There’s nothing superior about a wizard who comes from a purely magical background - they possess the same magical gene as a wizard born to Muggles. Magic is nature _and_ nurture, Mr Malfoy, once you’ve got it, it’s about what you learn to do with it; one’s long-dead ancestors have little bearing on _that_ . But I think you know that, deep down - I'm sure it must be a challenge to form a secure and solid sense of self when everything you value, from your possessions to your beliefs, has been inherited from others but clinging to the idea that these things somehow make _you_ better than someone like _me_ is a pretty poor compensatory attempt."

Malfoy blinked as though she had slapped him. He rather felt as though she had even though her tone had been bewilderingly matter-of-fact.

“I want Muggleborns to go to Hogwarts and not feel any different to their classmates. I want children of all blood statuses to be able to mix from a young age so that we can at least _try_ to balance out any intolerance they might be imbibing in their homes. Young witches and wizards will be taught to see one another as the equals they are, whether you like it or not.”

Malfoy was silent, ostensibly to give her a moment to compose herself but mostly it was to compose _him_ self. He knew her comment about intolerance in the home was a jibe at the way he had raised his own son—if Draco had not just very recently made it clear to him that he, too, was unhappy with the way that had been done his temper might have cracked. Instead it simply felt like she had applied salt to a very recently opened wound. But he wouldn’t rise to that bait.

“I am only seeking to give opportunities, Mr Malfoy, not take them away. I didn’t necessarily expect your approval in this venture but I had rather hoped you might be able to give your support as my advisor. Now I can see I should expect neither. But I won’t allow you to stand in my way so I think you should consider whether or not your continued involvement in my Ministry is tenable.”

Malfoy wasn’t sure whether to laugh at her or to curse her. Truly he had never met anyone so disrespectful or wilful. Or so attached to their principles. Infuriating. Getting to his feet, he retrieved his robes from the end of her bed and folded them over one arm. When he turned she was still sitting on the sofa, staring resolutely ahead with her hands balled on her knees. 

“I think it is time for me to leave you to dress for this evening. I will see you at the ball, Ms Granger.”

She didn’t say a word to him as he left and when he closed the door of her room he leaned his back against it for a moment to gather his thoughts. Yes, he himself had accused Mudbloods of knowing nothing of their ways and she was right that they had little opportunity to learn anything before they were thrown into school. Surely, though, that was just another example of why they didn’t belong. Why should they make allowances for these people?Because they might be exceptional?

Her alone being exceptional was not enough for him. Yes, he knew some truly _thick_ Pureblood wizards - the offspring Crabbe and Goyle stood out starkly in his mind - but they were still head-and-shoulders above the rest of the Mudbloods. Not that he personally _knew_ any Mudbloods other than her. But he was sure they were. Weren't they? And all that nonsense she had spouted about his sense of _self_. He knew exactly who he was: he was Lucius bloody Malfoy! 

_Ah yes, Lucius Malfoy, the son of Abraxus Malfoy and...what else?_ a sly voice, that sounded remarkably like Draco, was in his head. His son's real words came back to him: _“You’re just - all you think about is the family name and reputation, continuing the ‘Pureblood’ tradition even though it’s clearly absolute bullshit."_

Lucius pushed himself off the door and rubbed his eyes before continuing down the corridor to his own room. This was the kind of thing he had wanted to stop her doing, had thought he might be able to stop her doing. But here she was, fully prepared to sidestep him and march into the fray without a single thought for the fact that her uncritical attachment to such a potentially controversial endeavour might end her career. _Little idiot_. 

Even if he did agree with her, which he didn’t, she would really be up against it when it came to the dangers her plan posed to the Statute of Secrecy. The idea of having Pureblood children mix with Muggleborns before Hogwarts was dangerous never mind repulsive. He would never have allowed Draco to attend such an activity. 

_But Draco would send his child quite willingly_ , that small voice in his head reminded him, _your grandchild_. 

But Draco was never going to have a child anyway, he had been quite clear about that. Lucius could already hear the twisted arguments she would face because he could easily make them himself. _So are Pureblood children to have no access to learning about the_ _Muggle_ _world before Hogwarts? Are we to allow Muggleborns to straddle both worlds and gorge themselves on the opportunities that will provide?_ As though any Pureblood family would want to educate its children about the Muggle world, anyway. It was easy to imagine her apoplexy in the face of such disingenuousness. Once it would have been pleasant to see it but now that he had hitched himself to her, the bloody imploding star that she was, he would either go down with her or let her fail and be back to square one himself. 

_Or, you could help her and reap the benefits if she succeeds_ . _The people who voted for her surely knew to expect this kind of thing - it might prove popular._

Lucius grit his teeth and slammed his hand into the door of his room as though that would silence the traitorous part of his brain that had suggested such a thing. _For fuck’s sake_ . That was not an option. Working with her was supposed to be his great forfeit for power, not sacrificing everything he bloody stood for. She was supposed to bend to _his_ will, not the other way around. 

Perhaps it would be enough for now to make it look like he was helping her. There was no doubt that she had an enemy or two within the Ministry—Stommart had not acted alone and he certainly suspected machinations on a larger scale—something like this would almost certainly draw them out into the open. It was very possible that _her_ enemies were the next rung on _his_ ladder. Until he could get to them, however, he would need to stay close to her. If she would still let him.


End file.
